Bipartisanship
by hyacinthian
Summary: And with a light whisper, she led him into the rest of his life.
1. Virtuous Patience

**_Bipartisanship_**

****

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Rating: PG-13

Classification: R [Sam/Ainsley]

Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to Aaron Sorkin and all related parties.

Summary: Sam tries to decide whether or not he should go after Ainsley, the presidency, and a shot at happiness.

Author's Note: First S/A fic. I really adore them. They're cute. I hope they're in canon. If not, I'm really sorry. . Thoughts are in italics.

Samuel Norman Seaborn was never an impatient man. In fact, he always thought of himself as kind, patient, and generous. He would never do anything to shatter that image of himself. He always wanted to stay on the moral high ground. When it came to love, he was uneducated. Laurie had been sweet, but CJ had almost slaughtered him in the bullpen because of the PR nightmare that she was forced to clean up. Mallory was always touchy. He could never figure out whether or not he was doing things right or wrong with her and he found himself in a constant state of confusion.

With Ainsley Hayes, Sam Seaborn became different. He underwent a metamorphosis of sorts. With Ainsley Hayes, the Republican, he became impatient. He became wanting. He found himself almost crumbling internally, pining away for this woman. When it was dark outside, or light was breaking, and he still found himself in his office, his thoughts wandered. Why was she different? Why was his personality shifting whenever he thought about her?

One night, he theorized that perhaps he was following in Josh's ways. Josh, the strutting and arrogant man, who happened to be pining for his assistant. Josh, who, when he felt sure that nobody was looking, could be the most charming person in the world. Perhaps Sam was picking up his mannerisms. It wouldn't be odd. It would just be that Josh had left a strong impression on him.

When someone had sent Ainsley the dead flowers with the card that read, "bitch," he felt enraged and volatile. He felt the emotions combining within him dangerously. He saw red. He didn't know why it was different. Was it because she was different? Was it because she was Republican? He didn't know. As he sat in his apartment on a lonely Saturday evening, sipping a beer, he thought about his job.

His job certainly provided him with lots of intellectual challenges. It certainly provided him with opportunities to learn to channel his anger. When Toby would stand behind his shoulder and comment on everything as he typed, sometimes, he would feel the urge to snap Toby's neck in half. It also provided him with camaraderie. He had made countless friends (and countless enemies) while working at the White House. Josh, Toby, CJ, Donna, Margaret, even Leo were all somehow members of an extended family.

As he sat there and sipped at his beer, he thought about what he could do to express his feelings to Ainsley. First off, he would ask Leo. He didn't know why he felt such an urge to establish a paternal relationship with Leo. Was it because his own relationship with his father was too painful or too strained? Was it because he detested his own father? Was it because he needed nurturing?

He would send her flowers and write her a love note. He almost gagged on his beer as he thought of Toby's reaction. Maybe Toby would sidle up to him, thinking he was working on something important, and read all the embarrassing and humiliating details that he was sure to hold over his head. Maybe not. He suspected that Toby and CJ had something going on. He was never positive.

Where was he? Had he accomplished what he wanted since he left college or law school? Had he fulfilled his wishes? Was he where he thought he'd be back when he was young, naïve, and idealistic? He had been working at a prestigious law firm, but now, he was working for the President. Surely not a demotion. Was he morally the person he wanted to be? His twenty-something self chided him that he thought that by now, he'd be engaged or married? But to who? Would he be married to Lisa Sherborne and have little Sherborne-Seaborns running around?

Two days later, on Monday, he found himself walking to Leo's office with shaking hands and sweaty palms. He was nervous. Why? Could he still be that naïve twenty-something and believe that Ainsley was his soulmate? God, he could. He spoke a few, clipped words with Margaret. He wasn't trying to be rude. He was just…what's the word? He was a speechwriter! He could think of a word to surpass all other weak words. Anxious. Yes, he was just anxious.

"Come in," Leo's gruff voice spoke. He entered Leo's office, noting the familiar décor. Leo was holding a piece of paper in his hands and his reading glasses were on. Was he reading a bill or a memo? Was Sam interrupting something important? "What do you want, Sam?"

"Well, I wanted to know if I could have your permission to date…" Sam took a deep breath. You can do this. You can say 'a co-worker.' Could he?

Leo didn't look up. "Sam, I thought we already talked about Mallory. Look, I have no problem, all right?"

"It's not Mallory." Leo looked up at him. He removed his reading glasses and looked at the younger man standing by his desk, looking like a disciplined child in the principal's office. "Do I have your permission to date a coworker?"

"What coworker? You're not asking me on behalf of Josh, are you? That's noble and all, Sam, but Josh has to wait until the end of the term to date Donna." Josh had a thing for Donna. It was known as fact.

"I'm not asking on behalf of Josh, sir. I'm asking if I could possibly date a Republican consultant…that you and the President…consult with." His words were not positively eloquent. His ivy league vocabulary was failing him. Leo's expression changed into a slight smile.

"Is that all?" Sam nodded apprehensively. "Yeah, yeah. A word of caution, Sam. We've been through all this with Laurie. _Try_, just _try_, to keep it under wraps. Tell CJ if you have to. Avoid a media disaster." Sam nodded and practically skipped on his way out. Of course, she might not accept his…proposition. He shook off the thought and called Cathy and told her to call a local florist and order a bouquet of red and white carnations. Cathy, in playful nature, added if he'd want blue also. He was already in his office.

Ainsley Hayes had been sitting in her boiler of an office, trying to work on an argument as to why gay marriage should be allowed, when someone entered. A man asked her to sign for something. She did and she was handed a white box with a red ribbon tied around it. The box held a dozen red and white carnations. There was a card. "Have a proposition for you. –Sam." She smiled and headed up towards Sam's office.

When she arrived, Toby was leaning against a bookcase and critiquing his work as he was typing it. They both looked tense. Toby and Sam were arguing over the use of the word delegated. "The Republicans will make it seem like we're handing it off." Ainsley cleared her throat. Their heads shot up to look at her.

"I'm taking a break."

"Yeah."

Ainsley followed Sam out into the bullpen and into Josh's office. He shut the door behind them. "What's your proposition?" she asked, leaning against the wall.

"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to join me for lunch tomorrow." Ainsley smiled despite her best efforts not to. She had an inner urge to be coy and coquettish. _Coy and coquettish? I'll just have lunch with him. _

"Is this a date?"

"A business lunch," he replied, with a sparkle in his eye. Just then, the door opened. Josh glanced up from reading a file he was holding and looked at both of them.

"This is still my office, right?" Sam nodded. "Was I…in the middle of something?" Ainsley shook her head. "Okay." Donna peeked her head in and informed Josh that he had a meeting with Senator Hudson on the Hill in ten minutes. They quickly exited his office.

Sam, still trying to avoid doing work of any kind, decided to speak to CJ about the matter. He was going to charm this woman in any means possible. _Besides, maybe it'll help with my writer's block. _He stepped into her office. She lifted a finger and continued her phone conversation. She hung up a few minutes later. "What was that about?"

"I was just settling something. What do you need?" Sam closed the door and leaned against the doorjamb a little.

"I talked to Leo about something and I just wanted to clear it with you. In case it ever came up in the Press Room." CJ mumbled something incoherently as she leafed through a file. "What?"

"Nothing. What is it?"

"Well, I'm trying to…establish…a relationship with Ainsley that may be more than just friendship." Her mouth opened in shock. "As I said before," he restated, trying to resituate the topic and make her feel better, "I already cleared it with Leo."

"So you won't get fired, but this could be just the ammo the Republicans need to get us during the election year."

"CJ, I was guilt-free about this and now, I have guilt." He paused. "Ammo?" She shrugged.

She sighed. "I'll do the best I can."

"Thanks."

The following day, at noon, Sam and Ainsley met at a diner. He ordered a club sandwich, with French fries, and she ordered a salad. "You know, you should probably eat more than that pile of lettuce." She looked up from her file.

"Sam," she said, with a hint of sternness.

He took a bite of his club sandwich. "What?" he asked, innocently. She pushed the file towards him and he surveyed its contents. "They're going to oppose 415?" She nodded. "They can't!"

"Seeing as how they are, they can." She stabbed a piece of Romaine lettuce with her fork. She chewed slowly as he rambled out his argument. "Do you ever talk in a steady stream? It all comes out rapidly at the same time."

"This from the girl that speaks in iambic pentameter." She looked shocked. "Assistants talk, you know, and Tribbey's office offers much intrigue." She smirked and placed another forkful of lettuce in her mouth. As she chewed, he found his eyes being drawn to her lips. Suddenly aware of his eyes on her, she blushed.

"What? Do I have dressing on my face or something?" He shook his head. "Then wha…" She was interrupted as he leaned over the table to capture her lips with his. She made a muffled noise and when he pulled away a second later, he apologized.

"I'm sorry, Ainsley." _I just had to fulfill a sudden urge to…well…kind of…attack you. _"Forgive me?" She was a bit unnerved…and she had flushed a few degrees warmer…but she quickly composed herself.

"Sure." She dabbed at the corners of her mouth, just to make sure there wasn't something there. He almost laughed out loud at her sincerity to be professional. This was the West Wing. The place where quite a few Senior Staffers, to their discomfort, had seen the First Lady in a negligee, where once a year, they met in designer outfits and partied, where they were close and friendly and personal, where relationships budded everywhere, where some staffers slept overnight with ties off and buttons unbuttoned with Chinese food stains splattered on their shirt abstractly. "What was that about? Was that how Democrats tell people they have something on their face? What would you do if you had to tell Josh?" She chuckled softly.

Going along with the joke, he replied, "I'd get Donna." She smiled. "There was nothing on your face, Ainsley. I just felt like…doing…that." She wore an expression that told Sam that his answer was about as clear as the sky in Seattle.

"Doing that? You felt like doing that? Is there no reason? There's absolutely no motivation for why you did that?" _There's got to be a reason. There has to be. _"We'll sit here all day if we have to."

"You'll really keep me here all day?" She nodded. _Should I tell her the truth? _"You want the truth?" She gave him a look that read, "Obviously." _I have feelings for you. Five words…syllabically not hard to pronounce. _"I…um…I…ahem…"

"Are we going to get past the pronoun in this sentence?" She smiled, letting him know that she wasn't trying to be uncivil, just asking him to possibly get rid of the cat that was clutching his tongue with both paws.

"I…may…have…feelings for you." The last three words were mumbled together. She listened, continued eating her salad. In a few moments, she decided she had deciphered his sentence.

"Ah. I don't know what to say, Sam." _He's really saying this? What am I going to do? I could tell him that I've pined for him for a while. _"I'm utterly speechless." As a waitress passed, she flagged down the waitress and asked her for a blueberry muffin, as well as a slice of the pecan pie. The waitress nodded and headed back into the kitchen.

"You're speechless, yet you're still hungry. You never cease to amaze me, Ainsley." He shook his head in disbelief. She leaned in to kiss him. The kiss was different than his. Hers was a bit less chaste than his, it was open-mouthed, but it still clung to innocence. It was soft and gentle. As they pulled away, he spoke softly, "What was that for?"

"You're the deputy communications director. Why don't you figure it out?" She smirked, and as if on cue, the waitress arrived with her blueberry muffin and slice of pie. Sam could do anything right now, but that. Think. He couldn't think. He was absolutely thoughtless. He watched her eat. "What?"

"Can you take it to go?" She nodded and consequently asked the waitress for a bag. Sam paid and they headed towards the White House again. "Come with me to my office." She nodded and followed him into his office. He closed the door behind them before pushing her against the door and kissing her fiercely. She groaned softly and returned the kiss. They pulled apart and stood in close proximity, their breathing reduced to fast pants. There was a knock on the door. Sam opened the door where Josh stood. Ainsley quickly murmured something before she left for her own office. Josh quickly informed him of a situation involving the Energy Secretary.

"CJ needs a briefing, and the President needs a speech for the dinner with the Wildlife Protection Association." As he prepared to leave, he smirked. "You have some lipstick on the corner of your mouth, Sam. Funny, I didn't think that was your color." He headed back towards his office and Sam stood there, speechless, the remains of a smudge of lipstick on his thumb. He smiled and closed the door, sitting at his desk, and beginning to write the speech for the WPA.


	2. North Carolina Catfish

**_Bipartisanship_**

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Rating: PG-13

Classification: R [Sam/Ainsley]

Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to Aaron Sorkin (the creator), Thomas Schlamme, and John Wells (who is currently causing the avalanche that is West Wing now, but we won't get into that).

Summary: Sam tries to decide whether or not he should go after Ainsley, the presidency, and a shot at happiness.

Author's Note: Again, I hope they're in canon. One thing, though, it **wasn't** a one shot. Sorry if I didn't specify that. So here's another installment. To all reviewers, thank you!

**Scully**… I don't think I'm a good writer. I just attempt to do things like Sam/Ainsley and Josh/Donna without butchering them _too _badly. You're a great writer. I'd read yours over mine any day. ;-)

He wanted to give her a gift. He didn't know why. He was hit with mysterious pangs of gift giving. He decided to visit Josh's office for another piece of fruit. "Sam, what are you doing here?" he asked. Sam didn't even take the time to notice what was going on in his office. He didn't want to get involved. "Don't tell me. You're here…"

"I'm here to get a piece of fruit. Yes. You have the best fruit selection," he said. Josh quickly got up and walked to the wall and stood there, his back straight and stiff against the wall. "What are you doing?" Donna quickly opened the door and it hit him.

"Ow! I'm going to stop this whole standing by the wall thing, seeing as how it's causing more stress for me than relieving it," he mumbled, covering a side of his face with his hand. Donna looked at Sam, who was busy foraging through the fruit basket. After stealing an apple and an orange, he reached for the sole peach. He thanked Josh, who playfully replied, "Thank you. Come again."

He nervously glanced down the hall from any sign of Toby and quickly headed down towards Ainsley's office. As he was rushing, he bumped into Toby. "Toby, ah…good morning." The bearded man was straightfaced, but his eyes showed his obvious amusement. It suddenly occurred to Sam that Toby could have been a Hollywood villain. He could do that stereotypical beard-stroking thing when he was hatching an evil plot to take over the world. "And eliminate all the Republicans from the land," he whispered to himself, accompanied with a little evil laugh. Toby looked at him, obviously having heard the comment.

"Sam, are you okay? You look pale and you just said something about eliminating all the Republicans from the land." Sam smiled, muttering something, before fleeing down the hall. Toby finally figured out the man's motives. He softly smiled, heading up to his office. Once he was safely situated, his laptop making little whirring noises to indicate it was booting up, he relaxed in his chair when he heard a knock from the door. It was CJ.

"What are you smiling about?"

"How great to be young and in love."

"I don't know who drugged your coffee, but I want some. Did you have coffee? Did you take someone else's prescription? I'm pretty sure I know a lot of people who would want to drug your coffee, though. Did you have any meetings with any Congresspeople today?"

"No, CJ. The evil Congresspeople did not drug my coffee, but I'm sure the assistants will barge in at any second in loincloths, holding harpoons, screaming some obscenities at me in their native language." Ginger, who had overheard the comment, from outside his office, smiled.

"You mean we don't do that every day?" Donna quipped. She smirked. "Maybe that's just me. You know, people from Wisconsin with their mysterious torture devices and techniques."

CJ then smirked, having realized a detail in Toby's statement. "Loincloths? Do you imagine the assistants in their loincloths often, Toby? I mean, I realize that some of the males would have to add on some accoutrements to deter people from looking at their…"

"Get out," he ordered. CJ stood adamant. "I'll fishnap Gail. I swear to God, CJ. I'll take her and I'll feed her to a cat."

"You have a cat?"

"Look at me, CJ. Do I look like I would need a furry, clawed companion?"

"Don't threaten the fish, Tobus." As he noticed the growing audience, his fuse grew shorter and he saw the amusement in CJ's eyes at his anger.

"If we gave tours that showed how we acted right about now, there would be no more questions on why we don't get bills passed and policy initiatives initiated. Don't you people have work to do?" He shut the door after they all fled.

Sam knocked tentatively on Ainsley's office door. She waved him in and he listened to familiar classical music in the background. "Hey," she greeted.

"Are you…working?"

"I'm on my lunch break."

"Ainsley, you have like an insatiable appetite." Realizing what he said, he blushed slightly. "You know what I mean. I brought you food." Her eyes lit up and her face brightened with an enigmatic glow. She looked stunning. "It's a peach. You know, because you're a Georgia Peach." She smirked as she took the peach from him.

"Sam, because you just gave me a peace offering, food, no less, I will not bring up the fact that I have told you, on countless occasions, that I am from North Carolina."

"You mean like you're doing now?" She bit into the peach. "So if you're not a Georgia Peach, you would be a North Carolina…what?"

"Catfish."

"Does that mean I have to go buy you a fish? A live one?"

"You could get me a Salmon Steak for lunch. Cooked, of course. Steamed sounds nice, doesn't it?"

"But you're on your lunch break now."

"I'll take another one and I'll be nice. I won't stipulate the differences between salmon and catfish, even though one is from…" He gestured for her to quiet. She continued to eat the peach.

"What did you have for lunch?"

"A Caesar salad, a Chicken sandwich, New England style Clam Chowder, and coffee, and of course, the peach. Since I am an honorary Georgia Peach."

"After all that food, you want me to go buy you a steamed Salmon Steak for lunch, even though you can stipulate differences between a salmon and a North Carolina catfish, because you're from North Carolina." She nodded. "I'm sure I have some work to do upstairs…with Toby." He quickly ran up to his office. Fifteen minutes in, he heard dull thudding from Toby's office. That stupid ball. He wanted to take it and fling it across town. Of course, the actual chances of that happening were slim. He walked over to the doorway. "What do you need, Toby?"

"Did you get working on the WPA speech?" He nodded. "Let me see it."

"It's on my laptop. Don't run away, I'm coming over." He stood and read the current draft of the speech. "Wow."

"Yeah."

"I mean, wow. Scrap the whole thing and start over." Sam nodded. He deleted the entire file and began again. As the figurative gears in his head began to turn, he typed. _My fellow Americans, as I embrace the stunning horizon, I arrive at a shocking realization. Although stronger EPA laws have been passed and enforced, our environment is in danger. That not only endangers us, but our…_


	3. Stolen Kisses and the SPFI Contract

**_Bipartisanship_**

****

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Rating: PG-13

Classification: R [Sam/Ainsley]

Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to Aaron Sorkin (the creator), Thomas Schlamme, and John Wells (who is currently causing the avalanche that is West Wing now, but we won't get into that).

Summary: Sam tries to decide whether or not he should go after Ainsley, the presidency, and a shot at happiness.

Author's Note: Again, I hope they're in canon. Here's the third chapter. I hope they're in character. **To all reviewers, Thank you! I really am not that good of a writer. These characters are just so dear to me! **

**_Kursk_: Thanks for your feedback. About the JoshDonna. I wanted this fic to mainly focus on Sam/Ainsley because I feel they deserve a shot in the fanfic world. I have a fic I'm working on, on the side, that's mainly JoshDonna too. **

It was another one of those days. No, he couldn't file it mentally like that. He worked in the White House. How many of "those days" could he have? The answer was not a lot. He was holed up in Toby's office with Toby. He was reviewing the speech. Sam was tired beyond recognition and he couldn't focus. "Sam, you can't embrace a stunning horizon," Toby said. His voice shook Sam out of his daze, and he quickly recovered.

"How about… 'My fellow Americans, as I celebrate this spectacular horizon…'" he suggested. Toby nodded and he changed the sentence. They spent the next three hours in the office. CJ and Josh eventually joined them for a little while, bringing with them, food and laughter. It almost made Sam forget about the burning tension in his shoulders. After the speech was written, ready to be given to the present the following day, they all decided to go out for a drink. Sam, in all of his idealistic views about friendship amongst employees, decided to include Ainsley.

Maybe it wasn't his idealistic view of things. He just wanted to see her. She was one of them now, if only just for a time. He invited her and, with a warm smile, she accepted. She took his arm and they walked up, where the rest were waiting. They went to a bar, and the six of them crushed together in a booth and joked around. He felt the tension start to dissipate. He began to laugh at their familiar antics. When the topic began to wander, he smiled at the conversation.

"So who are you taking to the ball, Josh?" CJ asked.

"He's taking Joey Lucas," Donna instantaneously replied, taking a sip of Josh's beer. He looked at her, and she set the bottle down.

"I don't like Joey Lucas. We've been through this."

"Yes, you do." CJ leaned back in her chair, obviously enjoying the little bantering spat they were having. On bad days, she had to admit it pissed her off; it angered her that they were like this. If they realized they were like what they were like, it would only make her life harder. It would only be questions about why they couldn't. On good days, she realized their dynamic was in their ability to turn their…tension…into a good working relationship.

"If you like Joey Lucas, you should take her," Sam added. Josh glared at Sam, as if he was a traitor to the cause. Josh's cause.

"I don't like Joey Lucas!" he protested.

Donna murmured something, before taking another sip of his beer. "You do, you're just not willing to admit it."

"Yes, because one of your superiorities to me is your ability to mind read," he sarcastically quipped.

"You see? Josh gets very hostile when he doesn't get his way."

"Don't have to tell me twice. He covered my briefing once, remember?" CJ replied.

"I don't get hostile!"

"Shall we bring up the secret plan to fight inflation?" Toby added.

"Now, that's breaking the contract," Josh said. "Need I remind you all that on that night, in the midst of my drunken stupor…"

"Because of your delicate system."

"Whatever. In the midst of our drunken stupors, we all made a verbal contract never to speak of this again."

"Drunken stupors?" Toby repeated, utterly astounded by Josh's use of linguistics.

"What are you going to do? Sue us?" Sam said.

"Sure."

"Okay. You're all lawyers. The point of suing each other is—well, there is no point. So we shall continue as if the breach of contract occurred, all right?"

Ainsley, who had finished her drink, listened to them and she felt warm. She felt as if she belonged to them, regardless of her political affiliation. She dared to be different and ordered a mint julep. As she drank it, she remembered it. She remembered the feeling of it slowly sliding down her throat. She sighed a little at the feeling. She quickly drank the rest of it and apologized to them. "I have to go." They all argued in protest. "I've got a pressing appointment tomorrow morning."

Sam offered to at least see her home. As he spoke to her quietly, the others exchanged glances. CJ and Toby especially. They knew all too well what was going on from working with Josh and Donna on the campaign trail. CJ smiled a lazy smile as they all spoke greetings and watched Sam and Ainsley filter out along with other customers.

"Sam, it's okay. I appreciate the gesture, but…"

"The Sisterhood will not revoke your card if you let a guy walk you home." She chuckled. "CJ is the biggest advocate of the Sisterhood. She'd fight for you." He smiled. He followed her, as they walked several blocks. "Wow, you live far, huh?"

"Not that far." Within minutes, they arrived at the stoop of her apartment building.

They stood on her stoop, enveloped and encompassed by the awkward silence they were so familiar with. He leaned in and gave her a soft, gentle kiss. After he pulled apart, she covered the remaining space between them, linked her hands behind his neck, and leaned in for another kiss. This kiss was longer and she felt sublime. "Can I ask you something?" he began, reveling in the feeling of her fingers running through his hair.

"What?"

"Do you want to go to the Inaugral Ball with me?" He grinned, trying his best to be suave, and she giggled at his attempt. He was so cute. She nodded and gave him a soft, lingering kiss.

"Good night." She entered her building, leaving him standing there. He recalled her warmth from a few seconds before and headed towards his own apartment building.


	4. The Inaugral Ball

**_Bipartisanship_**

****

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Rating: PG-13

Classification: R Sam/Ainsley

Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to Aaron Sorkin (the creator), Thomas Schlamme, and John Wells (who is currently causing the avalanche that is West Wing now, but we won't get into that).

Summary: Sam tries to decide whether or not he should go after Ainsley, the presidency, and a shot at happiness.

Author's Note: Again, I hope they're in canon. Here's the fourth chapter. I hope they're in character. **To all reviewers, Thank you! I really am not that good of a writer. These characters are just so dear to me! **This chapter is really romantic. There really isn't a lot of comedy.

Ainsley Hayes had aged. In reverse. In a matter of seconds, she had been reduced from a cool, professional woman in charge of her life to a simpering seventeen-year-old. She had decided to get ready, not realizing that it would creating an outfit would take up such a monumental amount of time. She had finally decided upon a dark purple gown that had a lattice design down the back to rest comfortably on her hips. It was a gift from her mother after she had seen her on Capitol Beat. Accompanying her gown was a diamond pendant. With such limited preparing time, she quickly did her hair in a classy, quick, neat coif. It was a variant of the French Twist, with two decorative chopsticks positioned at just the right angle, with a few loose tendrils hanging loose. She reached for the curling iron and wielded it so skillfully, giving her a few wavy strands to frame her face. Her cheekbones, a stunning hereditary attribute, were wearing a light shade of rouge and as she checked her appearance for the fortieth time, the doorbell rang. Releasing a breath as a futile attempt to calm herself, she slipped her feet into some high heels, and opened the door.

Nothing prepared her for the sight of him. She had been preparing all day to look lustrous and beautiful, not prepared to see his own masculine handsomeness. He too was shocked at the sight of her. He reached for her hand and as he held it high above her head, she realized what he wanted, and so she indulged him with a girlish twirl. At the end of it, she felt lightheaded and managed to suppress her inner urge to giggle. After locking her door, she followed him and headed for the White House.

They arrived and she had a sudden urge to mingle. She supposed it was the Fight or Flight instinct within her? Sam was forced to do the same. He joined Josh and Toby, as Ainsley joined CJ and Donna. They talked. Abbey, watching from afar, had come to realize these circles formed every time this ball was held. She smiled slightly and felt an arm slip around her waist. She greeted her husband with a kiss and continued to watch them.

When all mingling had been done, all that could really be done was dance. Dance they did. It was a mathematical anomaly. They had factorials and permutations of all kinds with the dancing partners. However, certain partners did occur and reoccur a lot of times. Abbey, with her watchful eye, watched Sam dance with Ainsley more times than he danced with CJ and Donna, just as Josh danced more with Donna than he did with Ainsley or CJ.

Sam Seaborn was holding Ainsley against him and she felt like heaven in his arms. He had been so shell-shocked, she had to remind him to move, with a half-smirk, half-grin on her face. She had practically melded with him. She had made a soft sigh and they moved in a small circle with little steps to the music. He saw her neck, practically flaunting its alabaster, luminescent glow in his face, and he felt drawn to it. Before he could stop himself, and before his mind could fully plot out the entire tree of repercussions that could result from this one action, he pressed his lips to her neck. He could feel her pulse, beating frantically. She quickly snapped her head up to look in his eyes. "Sam," she began. "Sing me something." He snapped out of his reverie.

"Ainsley, I think you've had too much champagne." They stopped dancing for a second and stood there, stock still in the center of the dance floor.

"I can hold my alcohol, thank you. Why won't you sing for me?" She, in her flushing frustration, had her hands on her hips and looked at him. "By the way, you know, just because I happen to prefer Pink Squirrels, it doesn't mean that I can't hold my liquor. I used to very much be into hard liquor when I was younger, my alcoholic tastes have just…" Aware of the curious spectators, he grasped her forearms gently, shushing her gently. She broke away and looked offended. "I _can't _believe you're shushing me!" He linked his fingers with hers and quickly led her to his office. As soon as she entered, he shut the door behind them. He pulled her close to him in one fluid motion, feeling the contours of her body against his and brought his lips close to her ear. His soft baritone drifted in melodious harmony across her cochlea and timpanic membrane. But she couldn't help it. She had to laugh.

Her soft giggles made him stop. "What?" She kissed him gently on the lips, savoring the feel of his lips against hers, inadvertently memorizing it. She didn't know what made her so cynical to believe that she would never have him. That was because he was never hers to have.

"Sam, I asked you to sing me something, so you sang me Air Supply. Why?"

"Why did I sing you something or why did I sing you Air Supply?"

"Why did you sing me Air Supply?"

"They were the only lyrics I could tap into. I'm pretty sure me and my seventeen-year-old counterpart crossed over right there." She laughed and clasped her hands together behind his neck.

"Sam Seaborn, you are one of a kind." It was a slow movement, one that is often seen in movies. It was the cliché in most cases, but here they were, being tentative, kind, and gentle. It wasn't because of any stereotype or cliché. This was who they were. They were on a tough career path, with decomposing careers strewn on the side of the roads, but they were unusually optimistic. Perhaps that was why they were so dear to their friends and colleagues. They were intelligent people who refused to see the pessimistic choice until it was looming in their faces. Their lips met, and the deviant Republican she was, she opened her mouth and they engaged in fervent kissing. He loved kissing her and he didn't think it was a vice he could ever give up. She tasted sweet and the residual taste of champagne in her mouth tasted slightly tart to her. It was a lovely clash. The door unexpectedly opened and they pulled away to find Donna, Josh, CJ, and Toby standing there. All looked embarrassed.

"When you guys didn't come back…we thought you guys killed each other," Donna said. Sam's eyes flitted everywhere, obviously uncomfortable. Amidst his scanning of the room, he caught Josh's arm wrapped around Donna's waist. _That isn't odd for Josh. _Josh's eyes were a bit glazed over, as they often were when he was inebriated. Imbedded deep in those strong, emotional eyes was a hint of possessiveness, though, which caused Sam to smile.

"Josh, how many drinks did you have?"

"I only had four things of champagne."

"He's drunk," Sam stated, matter-of-factly, to Donna. She nodded and he knew that she knew. Josh, however, in full protest, held up his hands.

"I am not drunk! I am perfectly prepared to prove my point of sobriety! I am _not _inebriated, I am _perfectly _capacitated to undertake any assignments!"

CJ, holding her pair of killer high heels in one hand, smirked. "Josh, what about the President's secret plan to fight inflation?"

"Sure," he mumbled, in a sarcastic, but drowsy voice. "It involves the Census, the National Security Advisor, and Republican-owned oil companies."

"He's going to collapse soon. I better get him home," Donna said to them. "Come on, Quixote."

CJ looked at Toby, linked her arm through his, and told them she planned to go back to the dance floor, which was slowly losing dancing couples. "As you were," she said, smiling, softly closing the door behind her.

Before she could turn around, she felt his hands around her waist and his lips on her neck. She giggled and turned around to face him. "Are you trying to seduce me, Samuel Norman?" Although he tried hard not to, he cringed at the use of his middle name. He kissed her softly.

"No. In order to do that, I'd have to own a bakery or some other food vending store, and agree to raise the children Republican." She hit him playfully on the arm, but he kissed her deeply then. He slanted his mouth over hers and he let the tip of his tongue gently tickle the roof of her mouth. She groaned softly into his mouth and when they pulled apart, she brushed some of her lipstick off of the corner of his mouth with her thumb. His hand found her hand and they walked out of the building and towards his car. He kissed her again, unknowingly pushing her up against the frame of the car. When they pulled apart, she got in the passenger and he got in the driver's seat. He started the car and began to drive. "Do you want me to drop you off at your place?" he asked.

She looked at him and when he stopped momentarily at a traffic light, he looked at her. She saw the emotions swimming in those dark, amber pools and she felt herself flush. She felt wanton briefly and she quickly uttered, "Why don't you drop us both off at your place?" Perfectly timed, the stoplight changed to green and he began to drive. After he parked, he headed into his apartment, his hand still clasped with hers. He toed off his shoes and she followed suit. He shed his suit jacket and laid it on the back of a kitchen chair. He pulled two beers from the refrigerator and sat down on the sofa opposite the television. She heard the faint click of the television turning on and the droning voices of anchormen on CNN and took the proffered beer.

She set it down on the coffee table, making sure to have a coaster resting underneath. Nervous as she was, she tried to mentally coach her through this. _This is good. Come on, Ainsley, you can do this. This is Sam. Your Sam. He's not some stranger. _She heard him mumble something about meticulous Republicans and grinned as she pinned him down on the sofa. She took his beer and set it on the table too. Her platinum locks gently brushed the side of his face as she leaned down to kiss him deeply. She stepped onto the floor and helped him up. Immediately after he stood up, he brought an arm under her to hold her. She gently let her thumb brush his cheek. "You sure?" he asked.

She feigned to be frustrated as he began to walk upstairs to his bedroom. "I made the first move, Sam. I think I'm sure. You Democrats," she said. "You need to be coached through everything." He kissed her roughly then and she let the cascading, momentous feelings blend within her. She ached for him. _If anything, at least this will strengthen the bipartisan bonds. _She grinned at her thought, but was quickly distracted as he brought his mouth down on hers again.


	5. Honest To Goodness Love

**_Bipartisanship_**

****

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Rating: Maybe R this chapter?

Classification: R Sam/Ainsley

Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to Aaron Sorkin (the creator), Thomas Schlamme, and John Wells (who is currently causing the avalanche that is West Wing now, but we won't get into that).

Summary: Sam tries to decide whether or not he should go after Ainsley, the presidency, and a shot at happiness.

Author's Note: Again, I hope they're in canon. Here's the fifth chapter. I hope they're in character. Thanks to all reviewers for reviewing.

The morning light streamed through the window, the blinds shielding them from its glare. It was only six-thirty in the morning, but to this pair, it was late. It would have been the average taxpayer's equivalent of sleeping until nine. Their work hours were a bit constant. They usually reported in early and left the next morning. It was a process that tired them to their cores. When things were stressful, people were on edge, coffee cups littered desks, and Donna was fired at least fifteen times, to which she routinely replied, "Impervious." It was a routine they were often stuck in, like a skipping record.

It was a beautiful scene. They were both asleep and her head was resting on his chest, blonde hair splayed out everywhere, and an arm thrown around his waist. He was snoring softly, which was a method to tell if Sam was extremely tired or drunk. If a stranger stumbled upon them and they knew that information, their guess would certainly not be that he was drunk. At around seven, Ainsley awoke to running water. She ran a hand through her messy hair and sat up in bed. She smiled a lazy smile as she untangled her legs from the sheets that still smelled of them.

She blushed and felt herself warm from her head to her toes as she remembered some of the things that happened last night. She remembered the feel of his lips on her collarbone. She remembered the taste of his skin. She remembered his scent, enveloping her to the point of suffocation. She remembered the feel of his girth. As she contemplated the words, she blushed at them. He walked out then, wearing a towel, slight steam billowing from the bathroom. "Good morning, beautiful," he said, in a soft voice. "How'd you sleep?" He grinned.

"You men," she said. "Always asking to be graded and then angry when you see all the red pen." She got up from the bed and he walked over and pushed her gently back on the bed.

"You know, that's something I would have expected CJ to say."

"Let me up, Sam. Do you have a muffin?" He shook his head. "Cereal?" Again, he shook his head. "Anything?" He told her that he had beer and that he usually picked stuff up on his way to work or he stole some fruit from Josh. "I'm going to go take a shower and then we're going to go to work."

"Why?"

"Simply because I'm hungry." On her way to the bathroom, she picked up her cell phone, flipped it open and spoke, "Dad? Yeah, Sam had his way with me yesterday night and now he won't feed me. Yeah. Love you too. Bye." He looked at her and she smiled.

"You know, that's getting creepy." She headed into the bathroom and closed the door. As he heard the water running, he scrounged his kitchen for food. Finally deciding that perhaps he should feed his Ainsley…_My Ainsley. I like the sound of that. _…so he quickly scribbled down a note, dressed, and headed out.

After Ainsley popped out of the shower, she dressed quickly and towel-dried her hair. She searched the apartment for Sam, but to no avail. She found a slip of paper taped to the door. She walked up and read the message: Ainsley, wouldn't want your dad to hate me before he got a chance to know me and have a reason to hate me. Gone out to get you a pound of bagels and Danishes and coffee. –Sam. She smiled.

He returned a few minutes after she got out of the shower and held the bag up, showing its obvious grease stains. She smiled and held out a hand. "Surprise me," she said, closing her eyes. He reached out and brought her hand up to his lips. She opened her one eye and then shut it again, shaking her hand free from his grasp. "Surprise me again." He fished out a muffin and placed it on her hand. She opened her eyes, unwrapped it, and bit into it. She gave a moan of pleasure. He stared at her and she could feel the heat of his gaze.

"I'm going start getting you muffins more often," he said. He pulled her into his embrace and carried her off into the bedroom. The poor muffin lay on the table, forgotten temporarily. When they emerged again, dressed and equipped with a post-coital glow, they had a meaningful conversation, spooning on his sofa.

"Sam, what do you want out of your life?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Before you say anything, I mean really want out of your life. Not career goals or anything…just what you personally want out of your life." She was holding his hand and softly rubbing slow circles on the back of his hand.

"I…" he started, his voice husky with emotion. "I want a house, a large house for every person I consider family or friend. I'd like children. It's not a necessity, but it'd certainly be an experience." His eyes glazed over with an unrecognizable emotion. She watched his eyes. She loved his eyes. They entranced her whenever she looked in them. Those deep, mahogany pools clutched her soul and told her things that she knew he'd probably never tell her. She loved how, if he loved something, his eyes would sparkle with excitement, and how, if he was determined, they would steel over with a stubborn will to get things done. "Naïve and idealistic as it may be, I want love. Real, honest-to-goodness…"

She stopped and looked at him, a grin splotched on her face. "'Honest-to-goodness?'" she repeats.

"Shut up. I'm in the middle of a cliché, idealistic, perhaps even longeur speech about love here."

She smiles at him, feeling giddy. "Sorry to interrupt."

Feeling like following their usual detour, he replies with the usual, "It's fine. Your Republican genealogy explains everything." She feels like it's time to go off on a tangent, a particularly fun one she's in the mood for. She stands up, sporting one of his dress-shirts, with the top three buttons unbuttoned, and starts speaking.

"You know, Sam, not all of my ancestors were Republican. When my great-great-great-something-or-other Agnes came over on the Puritan boat to religious freedom, I'm pretty sure she wasn't thinking, 'Let's try to weasel this bill away from the Democrats.'" As she continues, the words seem to filter in and out of his ears, and as she drawls out the rant, he can't help but wonder how she breathes. _Maybe she breathes through her skin, like an amphibian. _His other voice argued that she _wasn't _an amphibian. Rather, she was a human being. _Maybe she picked up the habit somewhere. _"And you know what? Some of the Founding Fathers didn't want political teams either! My ancestors were not all political either. Just ask my great-aunt Elise. She thinks that _both _parties are stupid. We have this fight at Thanksgiving and Christmas every year. My father and my great-aunt fight every year about this. She's eighty-years-old and she's still debating like she was when she was…" He puts a finger on her lips to stop her. He knows that if he doesn't take this precautionary measure to preclude her speech, she'll continue on until next Tuesday. Quite literally.

"If I may continue?" She gestures to let him know he may, as she lies back down on the couch, snuggling close to him. "Ahem. I want to find someone who loves me as deeply and passionately as I love them. I want to find someone who knows me to my soul, just as I know her. I want someone who knows when to be serious with me, when to be playful with me, and know that sometimes my job takes precedence over my relationship…" He sighs heavily. "'Keep your expectations low and the fall won't be so hard.' That's such a practical saying. Why don't I ever find myself following its advice?" She looks at him and she can feel her tear ducts creating the droplets of liquid already, but she blinks them back and she can feel her retina recoil with its wetness. She wants to scream at him, "It's right in front of you!" but opts to kiss him instead. She doesn't want a relationship like the ones in her past. She wants a special one and damn it all to hell if she makes a fool of herself by deifying a relationship that turns out to be bad. So she keeps the four-letter word locked in her heart, waiting for him apprehensively.

He, though surprised, welcomes the kiss and savors its saccharine sweetness. He loves the lingering taste of her and scent of her. It's so unique. It's so Republican. He realizes that one day he will have to give up his Republican jokes and listen to the quips the other staffers make about them, but for now, it's acceptable. For now, he can. For now, it's them. He replays the scene in his mind, the memory fresh. As his laryngeal cords vibrated against themselves, as the words flowed out of his mouth fluidly, he realized he was only talking about one person. The one person he's wanted for so long, the one person his _soul_, and not just his body, has ached for. He watches her and, using his index finger, guides her face over closer to him, where he kisses her on the forehead.

They both want each other, they need each other, and, although they won't admit it prematurely for the sake of jinxing it, they both love each other. As her slender fingers grope around on the coffee table for the remote, he smiles. She flicks on the television and as the screen clears, it's C-Span. He knows what's coming next. He knows they'll debate over the issue that C-Span is showing today. That's what makes them so special. This tradition, this relationship…it's beyond the parameters of the White House, it's beyond the Senior Staff, it's beyond the Oval Office, and even the President. It's…just them.


	6. CJ's Involvement

Bipartisanship 

****

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Rating: Back to PG-13

Classification: R, Sam/Ainsley

Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to Aaron Sorkin (the creator), Thomas Schlamme, and John Wells (who is currently causing the avalanche that is West Wing now, but we won't get into that).

Summary: Sam tries to decide whether or not he should go after Ainsley, the presidency, and a shot at happiness.

Author's Note: Again, I hope they're in canon. Here's the sixth chapter. Thanks to all reviewers for reviewing. Note: I didn't know that the brackets didn't show up in the final draft on There were originally brackets around Sam/Ainsley in the Classification part to show that the R (romance) belonged to S/A. Anyway, now that the details have been hashed out…enjoy the story. **The POV is different in this story. It's first-person and it's from CJ's POV. It's only one chapter, though. For a little change. **Sorry if they're off canon. By the by, I'm a little iffy about episode sequences, so, for the sake of argument, let's place _17 People, Stackhouse Filibuster, _andthe episode with the green beans all in the same area.

The door opens. "I bought her a fish." I look up and I get that feeling of dread. That feeling that tells you today is one of those days again. It's Sam. I'm on the phone, talking to an incompetent aide to an Oregon senator about green beans. I give him the international symbol for wait-a-second-I'm-on-the-phone and proceed with my conversation.

"Yes, you see, green beans are _vital _to Oregon's…oh, for crying out loud! Just have the Senator call me when he's not busy." I hang up and turn to face Sam. He looks like this might be the last conversation he might ever have with someone. "You bought _who _a fish?"

"Ainsley." Did it ever occur to these men working in the White House that fish does not a romantic gift make?

"Ah. Seems to be a running theme."

"What?"

"Fish as gifts. What type of fish?"

"I bought her a catfish."

"Is it dead?"

"God, I hope not."

"What do you mean, 'God, I hope not?' You do know where it is, don't you?" He nods. "Then, why aren't you sure if it's still alive or not?"

"I left it in my office. I gave it some food. And I just let it swim and, you know, do its thing."

"And why are you in here?"

"I need you to join myself, Josh, and Donna in an elaborate plot to convey a simple message." I give him a look. "You know, flowers and chocolates, three little words, writing in the sky, _Say Anything_, Cupid, Venus, Aphrodite…" He trails off. Sparky wants to say I love you. Will wonders never cease? There's a knock on my door. It's Toby. And he's dripping on my carpet.

"I got hosed," he says, in a flat tone. I laugh.

"What?"

"I was walking back here from the Hill and there were men in yellow suits and they accidentally…spritzed…me."

"Men in yellow suits? Firefighters?" Sam injects. Toby gives Sam a glare and he backs away.

"Spritzed?"

"Their words. Not mine. They apologized. But now I look like I've been trooping through Woodstock."

"Toby, were you even alive during…"

"CJ, do you know where people keep extra suits?"

"I'm sure Josh has one somewhere. He's always staying late."

"CJ!" I look up. Damn, was that all in my head? Oh, well. It was pretty damn funny. "So, I need you in on this mission of mine. We're going to…" He leans over the desk and whispers in my ear. I feel like I'm in an episode of _Scooby-Doo_. Is this still the curse of Bast? I thought I cleared this up, you Egyptians. I didn't mean to break the damn thing. Can you clear me of the curse now?

So after that meaningful conversation with Sam, I was to acquire a copy of _Hail to the Chief _and a working tape player and to clear my schedule for tomorrow night (Friday). I was to meet Josh and Donna, who would have done their deed and purchased two large containers of assorted muffins and brought the catfish (who still doesn't have a name).

"Carol, get me a copy of Hail to the Chief and a tape player or CD player by tomorrow. And get me information on green beans." My faithful assistant nods and heads down the hallway. Today might be getting better, except now I have to go talk to Toby because he was right. Immediately after having an absolutely humiliating conversation with Toby, I got in my office and picked up the phone.

"Sam Seaborn."

"Sam, you answer your own phone?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you're putting poor Ginger out of a job."

"Ginger is Toby's secretary."

"So who is yours?"

"You know, I'm not quite sure."

"Name the fish."

"What?"

"Name the catfish you bought for her."

"CJ, I have GAO projections to finalize and make fun of."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm sure Winnifred Hooper could get around to that."

"Could we just drop that incident? How was I supposed to know she read them all? Who reads them all?" He sounds absolutely shocked. Oh…God. I can tell I need painkillers right about now.

"Name the fish."

"Daisy."

"That's a name for a cow. Name it again."

"You tell me to name it and then you don't like what I name it? I'm a writer, CJ, and that's what I do, write, and inadvertantly, I name things. Therefore, whatever I say—"

"Name it, Sparky!"

"Penelope!"

I start banging my head against my desk. I can see Carol lean back and look at me worriedly. Carl Jung must be having the time of his life watching me. "Can't you come up with a decent name? I feel sorry for your children."

"What children?"

"Your future children."

"Oh. How about Veronica?"

"Sounds a bit—oh," I groan. "I give up. Yes, yes, the fish is now dubbed Lady Veronica."

"How did the conversation with Toby go?"

"Shut up and go back to making fun of the GAO projections."

"Have a nice day, CJ," he says, in a singsong voice. I could kill that man right now if he wasn't ready to proclaim his love for someone. "Don't forget!"

"Yes, yes, the Roxy at 6:30 sharp. I still haven't forgotten since the last 54 times you've told me."

"Actually, 57."

"You've been counting?"

"GAO projections do that to you."

I hang up and just sit there, my head resting against the frame of my desk. I hear the sound of fabric sliding against fabric and I know who's strutting down the hallway. Josh. He stops and looks at me. "CJ, are you okay? Are you having an epileptic fit of some kind?"

"Josh," I manage to say. "Leave before I shoot you."

"Just checking up on my fellow coworkers. After all, what are we without each other?"

"Alone."

"No, see, the correct answer was nothing."

"Josh, you know that part where I said, 'Leave before I shoot you?'"

"Yeah?"

"I wasn't being facetious. I really will shoot you."

"Are you going to get _Hail to the Chief _for Sam? He asked me to ask you."

So there I was, heading into the most rundown, dilapidated building in DC, searching for a copy of _Hail to the Chief _available in CD form. I found it and it was $4.50. I quickly paid and headed back to the White House for the CD Player. After finding it, I rushed to the Roxy in Arlington, Virginia. Operation Sparky was in place.

I arrived at the Roxy to find Sam practically sweating off a quarter of his weight waiting for me. Josh and Donna were there. Josh had purchased chocolate-chip muffins. They sounded disgusting to me. Donna was holding a bag with Veronica happily swimming away. She looked a little nauseous. Josh offered her a muffin. She chastised him because they were Ainsley's muffins.

"You brought the tape?"

"Yeah."

"I talked to restaurant management. Somehow, we can put the CD player in an inconspicuous place where she would be able to hear it."

"Why don't you just play it over the PA?"

"Because that would be embarrassing and potentially damaging to my career and most definitely damaging to my ego," he said, bluntly.

"Okay. It's 6:45. What do you want us to do?" I ask.

"I want Josh to give me the muffins," he starts, as he reaches for them. Josh surrenders them to him. "I want the plastic baggie with the fish—er…Veronica—and whenever Josh gives you the signal, hit 'play,' okay?"

"Yes."

The three of us head off in the general direction towards the bathrooms, crouching behind a table. We see blonde hair moving towards the direction of Sam's table. We plug in the CD player and have it paused, ready for action. Our position is absolutely flawless, despite the fact that we're obstructing the pathway to the restrooms. We can hear them talking, albeit softly.

"Hey," he says, greeting her. I feel like I'm intruding on someone's private moment. Oh, wait. I _am. _I'm intruding on Sam and Ainsley's private moment. We can see him kiss her on the cheek and they sit. "How are you today?" The waiter arrives to pour them glasses of ice water, before heading towards the bar.

"Oh, did I tell you? The steam pipe trunk distribution venue—are you going to eat those muffins?—started to backfire today for the sixth time this month. I'm not kidding. I've actually counted how many times it's blown one-hundred-and-ten degree air at me. I need to talk to Leo about this." He smiles a soft smile and I can see her face brighten. He picks up her hands, almost in admiration; perhaps in admiration.

"Do you remember…the first time we met?" he asked. "When you made me look like an idiot on national television?" She blushes and nods.

"And then I was hired to go work for the same person you work for."

"You can call him the President, you know. You don't have to be so skittish about it." She makes a soft noise to show her reluctance about it and takes a sip of water.

"Ainsley, I, ahem, have something to tell you. It's nothing that rings of national importance or anything, but it's important to me."

"Are you breaking up with me?" she drawls. "Because if you are, save the speech. You know what? I never should have left North Carolina but all I ever wanted to do was work in the White House and, now, you're shattering that—" He places a finger on her lips to interrupt her.

"Why don't you have a muffin?" She tentatively takes the one he offers and begins to unwrap it. "First of all, this fish is for you." He takes the bag out and hands it to her. "Her name is Veronica and she's a catfish. You being North Carolinean and all. Second, I have something important to tell you."

"You mentioned that already but go ahead."

He looks at her with a burning gaze and takes a deep breath. "Ainsley, I…uh…I love you. I mean, I know it seems trite, what with the divorce rate and the muffins and all, but I do. I truly do. I like the way you laugh at my corny Republican jokes and the way your hand fits in mine, and just all the other clichès that fit with love. I mean, they're just true for me and if you don't…feel the same…if you could please let me know _now_…" He leaves the air hanging with possibilities and I can almost sense his nervousness. I hear Donna sniffling in the background.

"Donna, please, no crying."

She takes a bite of her muffin and chews. "Thanks for the catfish. She's beautiful in her own slimy way…" Tentative, she leans in and kisses him. I feel a nagging urge to turn away, just because it's a bit awkward. I think it's supposed to explain things. Not that I'm an interpreter of the Sam-Ainsley skittish relationship language.

"And…uh…sometime soon, I want to give up my job." She looks stricken.

"What? Why?"

"And…uh…run for President." She reaches out and links her hands behind his neck and she pulls him in for a long kiss. Whatever signal he was giving me to play the music that I was ignoring is certainly forgotten.


	7. Seaborn for President

**_Bipartisanship_**

Title: Bipartisanship

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Classification: R

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. They belong to Aaron Sorkin.

Author's Note: Sorry I didn't update in such a long time! I want to make sure my beloved characters stay in character and are true to themselves. Please note that this story does not really follow a strict timeline. Anyhow, to those that reviewed, thank you! I really appreciate it. Reviews are like chocolate biscotti. You can't have just one! By the way, I'm really, really sorry if they're out of character. I have the best of intentions, I swear. I have to say that this chapter seems like the worst chapter I've ever written for this story. I'm really sorry. It's a really bad draft. But, try to bear through it. I hope better chapters are to come.

At seven-thirty a.m., a drowsy Sam Seaborn, enters the West Wing, barely registering his surroundings. It had been a difficult day for him yesterday. History had repeated itself yesterday, and he had metaphorically spent the entire day searching for his talent and his potential. He hadn't left the building until two-thirty a.m.

So, on this delightfully hushed Thursday morning, as Sam was pouring his morning cup of lukewarm coffee, a wrench was flung into the system. Josh had sidled up to him that morning, and in what might seem an ironic turn of events, his coffee metamorphosed into a very familiar Pink Squirrel, and fled from his hand, splattering all over Josh's crisp blue shirt.

After many apologies, Josh began to have the conversation he wanted to have with Sam in the middle of the Communications Bullpen. "You were late this morning," Josh said, dabbing at the stain with a napkin.

"Traffic on Dupont was hell this morning," he replied.

"Enough to make you more than an hour late? This isn't LA."

"I never lived in LA. CJ lived in LA. That would be a great metaphor, if I were CJ, but I'm not."

"This isn't New York."

"Ah. A metaphor befitting myself."

Communications Director Toby Ziegler made his appearance, bag in hand. "That's just about the worst sentence I've ever heard."

"It's jargon."

"For a drunk third-grader." Toby shook his head in disbelief before heading into his office. He continued with his daily routine, turning on the television and booting up his computer.

"We need to know that the people who make the decisions that affect _our _lives are not criminals. The Democrats are not going to provide us with the type of representation we need! The Democrats have every Tom, Dick, and Harry representing. We have drug addicts and alcoholics sitting idly by in the West Wing getting high or drunk, respectively, and making crucial decisions on national security! And I have recently received information which proves that certain White House staffers are unscrupulous in their relationship choices as well." Toby looked up, and watched the television screen.

"CJ!" he yelled, eliciting an, "I'm watching!" from CJ. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You watching?" Sam stumbled into Josh as they rushed into his office.

"I am now."

At senior staff that day, Leo addressed the issue with the Senior staffers. "How are we going to resolve this?" he asked.

"Well, he brought up the drug and alcohol issue and now he's accusing us of being unscrupulous? Nothing's going to come of this."

"Nothing? This is a disaster. They have something. It's McAllister. He wouldn't challenge us if he didn't have something," CJ replied.

"Okay. One at a time. _Please_."

"How is he going to prove we're unscrupulous?"

"That thing with Sam and the hooker."

"For the last time, could we _stop _calling her 'the hooker?'"

"So what am I going to tell the press?"

"Tell them that the thing with Sam and the call girl has come up before."

"What about their questions?"

"Try and avoid answering any of them. We don't want to say we think McAllister's an idiot."

"If we challenge him, maybe we can find out what his claims are and solve them."

"You can't _solve _a claim. All grammatical errors aside, I agree with Josh."

"All right. CJ, challenge McAllister. Find out what evidence he has that proves that White House staffers are unscrupulous."

CJ Cregg, Press Secretary, walked into the press room that day feeling particularly queasy. As annoying as they were, the press were her friends also, in a manner of speaking, and she always felt uneasy lying to them, even though her outer demeanor said otherwise. There were some days, however, when she hated them for their objectivity and the way they always wanted the scoop. It was days like today and days like before, when she had to deal with questions about Leo's alcoholism and drug addiction or the shooting. Today, she had to address another personal issue: Sam's personal life.

"CJ! CJ!"

"Katie."

"What does the White House think of McAllister's claims of unscrupulousness in the White House?"

"The White House finds it outrageous that Senator McAllister claims he has evidence of unscrupulousness. There is no way he can prove with material evidence that White House staffers have no principles. The issue about the Deputy Communications Director, Sam Seaborn, and his friendship with a call girl has surfaced before."

"CJ, I have a source that says that these accusations are because of his flings with Leo McGarry's daughter and Ainsley Hayes."

"Ah…um…that's all I have. I'll brief you again at 6:30." Press Secretary CJ Cregg walked out into the Communications Bullpen to find Josh, Sam, and Toby waiting for her.

"We weren't expecting this."

"No. No, we weren't."

"How did they find out about Mallory and Ainsley?"

"I don't know."

"What are they going to do with this information?"

"He's running." All eyes meandered over to Josh. "He's running for president." Immediately, everyone's gears shifted to work.

"CJ, find out who was at the restaurant that night."

"On it. Cathy!"

Later that evening, CJ Cregg sat in her office, heeled shoes toed off and lying in a corner someplace, eating salad. She had decided to see Josh on the most precious of hours in a day, her dinner hour. She spoke with Josh about McAllister's claims and their next plotted plan of action.

"You were right, Josh. He's running."

"We have to get Sam out there as soon as possible."

"Do you think that's wise?"

"I think it's a better option than discussing his relationships in public."

"The questions will still be out there."

"Yeah, but then, they'd be in relation to his upcoming campaign rather than direct questions themselves."

"Okay."

Deputy Communications Director Sam Seaborn was, not up in the pressroom going over his speech for the hundredth time, but rather in the steam pipe trunk distribution venue, speaking to Ainsley Hayes. "I'm about to go up and make a statement that will…you know…reveal that our relationship…exists."

"I know, Sam."

"And I hope that none of your family members will be offended by your relationship with a Democrat."

"Some will, but it can be easily fixed."

"Okay. Would you like to, I don't know, possibly converge your household with mine?"

"Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"In simpler terms, I suppose, yes."

She grabbed him by the tie and kissed him roughly. "Every president needs a First Lady."

"I have to go…you know…state my statement." It was then that Sam Seaborn, idealistic politician, took shaky steps into the press room to make his statement to the press about McAllister's claims and announce that he was running. Of course, he hoped that Josh and CJ had informed Leo and the President about his upcoming campaign, but he doubted it.

"Good afternoon. My name is Sam Seaborn and I am the Deputy Communications Director. Senator McAllister has made claims about my personal relationships with women and used it to his advantage in a way to undermine any candidates the Democratic party has for the presidency. That is why I am annoucing that I am campaigning for the presidency."

"Sam! Sam!"

"Please allow me to finish and then I'll take questions. Senator McAllister has made some pretty serious allegations involving my morals. At this time, I am inclined to say that my morals are none of Senator McAllister's business. I am also inclined to say that Senator McAllister is not psychic and cannot read my mind and has no right to pass judgment on my life or the personal decisions I make. Now, I will take questions. Yes?"

"Sam, are you wary of the negative impact McAllister's accusations will have on your campaign?"

"No. I believe that McAllister's accusations will make no difference. My personal life will have no impact on my ability to be commander-in-chief. In presidential campaigns, candidates sometimes revert to the lowest standard possible to score some key electoral votes. I want to try and rise above that, above McAllister's level, because that was his precise reason for bringing up my personal life. He wanted to take the rug right under the candidate the Democratic party chose to endorse."

"Sam, do you have a plan to…"

Author's Note: I think this is a really crappy chapter. I think I'm better at writing them lighthearted. In any case, don't take this chapter as the depth of my writing. I'm sure better and brighter things are to come.


	8. Sam Seaborn Saves Seals

Bipartisanship 

****

Title: Bipartisanship

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Classification: R

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me. Belongs to Aaron Sorkin, NBC, etc. etc.

Author's Note: Sorry, sorry, sorry for the long lapses between chapters. I just don't want to have a characterization fiasco with my characters, that's all. By the way, if you didn't know before, the story doesn't really follow a set timeline other than the one stated in the Constitution which says that no president is allowed more than 8 years in office. This chapter skips a few months ahead, so they've already "converged households." And the POV I've been trying to use throughout this story is the whole omniscient 3rd person thing. Is it working? Italics are flashbacks or thoughts. Or, you know, enunciated words.

To **RnR**: In my own personal opinion, I believe that the show was kind of geared so that once Bartlet's two terms were over, he could pick it up and they could still have the same cast, because once you build a following, it kind of dies once you eliminate all the people your fans are familiar with.

-

December had begun to unleash its unadulterated wrath on DC. The temperatures were definitely beginning to drop and snow was beginning to inform everyone of its arrival. Deputy Communications Director and Democratic Presidential Candidate Sam Seaborn was lying on a sofa in his shared apartment with certified Republican lawyer Ainsley Hayes. The fireplace was lit and he was staring into its flickering depths. He heard the key turn in the lock and looked up. The door opened to reveal his stunning significant other, hair tousled and lightly dusted with snow.

"Hey," she greeted. "What are you doing home?" She dropped her bags on the floor, and turned to shut and lock the door. He got up to help her with her bags. Once they were rightfully propped against a corner in their shared office, he gave her a soft kiss.

"I got out early," he grinned. Her eyes sparkled with suspicion.

"_How_?" she asked, pointedly.

"Well, you know, I was so excited to come home and greet my love," he said. "And I wrote a draft of a speech and left it on Toby's desk to read, yell at me for, and make fun of."

"Uh-huh," she replied. "Where was Toby during all of this?"

"Getting a sandwich."

"You took advantage of the man's need for perfection when he went to get a _sandwich_?" She sounded appalled.

"No, no. Nothing like that. I'm sure the phone will be ringing soon. For him to…you know…contact me and yell at me." She crinkled her forehead and nodded slightly.

Ainsley shrugged off her coat and hung it up before coming and laying next to him. His arm snakes over to hold her against him possessively. "So what is the speech for?"

Sam brushes her hair aside and kisses her neck. She shudders slightly. "Toby and Josh want me to be ready for campaigning," he explains. "Because, you know, once I make an announcement that I'm running against McAllister, I should really start campaigning."

"So when are you going to start, you know, touring?"

"I don't know yet."

"So have you decided on a campaign slogan?"

"Somewhat. We had a meeting on it this morning."

_"You know, Toby. What good is a campaign speech without a slogan?" Toby's eyebrows lifted in suspicion. _

_"And you have said slogan, Josh?"_

_"Well, somewhat, but you know, a slogan is important."_

_"I realize that."_

_"Do you think we could have managed to elect President Bartlet without that 'Bartlet For America' slogan?"_

_"Somehow, I think we could have scraped by, yes."_

_"..well..I still think we should have a slogan." CJ threw her hands up in exasperation._

_"What's your slogan, Josh?"_

_"Sam Seaborn Saves Seals."_

_All eyes shot his way. "Josh, are you thinking?" CJ asked. "'Sam Seaborn Saves Seals?' Josh, it really doesn't help us get any vote but the environmentalist one."_

_"There's alliteration," Sam added. "Maybe that's why it was suggested."_

_"Shut up, Sam," Toby replied. "Josh, somehow, I feel like 'Sam Seaborn Saves Seals' wouldn't really disenchant the people from McAllister."_

_"It was just a suggestion."_

Ainsley smiled at his story. He shifted, so that she was under him and kissed her. "What did you do today? Any disbarrs?" She shook her head.

"Aw. Well, maybe tomorrow." The phone rang. He got up and picked up the phone. "Hello? Yeah, Toby. I know. I had writer's block. How am I supposed to appeal to everyone? I'm sure the Republican half of the nation will hate me no matter what." Ainsley nudged him. He smiled at her. "What? Yeah. Where are you calling from? You have _really _bad reception. I know. Just change it, then. For the fortieth time, Toby, it's _imagery_. Okay. Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow." He hung up.

"Speaking of Republicans," Ainsley began, with a grin, "When do you want to come and meet my family?"

"When are you going to meet mine?"

"Look, pick a holiday."

"Columbus Day." She rolled her eyes.

"Sam, just tell me! Thanksgiving or Christmas?"

"Look, there's going to be a strong possibility that I will go and argue with the male members of your family over political matters. So I'd rather not."

"Sam, I'd rather not go to the dentist, but you know, it can't be helped! You're going. Now, Thanksgiving or Christmas?"

"But your teeth are your friends for life! Dental hygiene is important." She glared at him. "Thanksgiving."

"So I'll go and meet your parents on Christmas. And then, it will all be…you know…settled."

"Uh-huh," he replied, disbelieving. "You're going to go campaign with me, right? I mean, if you need it, I'm sure the President could talk to Tribbey for you."

"No, I'm sure it would be fine."

"All right." He began to kiss her neck again, like he had been. She chuckled and tried to move. He prevented her.

"Sam," she drawled, despairingly. "I have work to do."

"I'm sure it won't take long," he replied, a mischievous glint in his eye. With that, he picked her up and headed into their bedroom.


	9. The Campaign Trail

Title: Bipartisanship

Author: Scarlettmithruiel

Classification, rating, etc: See previous chapters.

Author's Note: This chapter takes place when they're about to campaign. I apologize for the length. Blah. I haven't been feeling well lately.

**Dedicated**: To Leslie, Anna, Emily, and Tiffany! My four closest friends.

-

Sam Seaborn woke up in the realm of his bedroom. The blonde cherub who normally accompanied him was nowhere in sight. Groaning, he got up, feeling his joints crack wearily. _Father Time's running after you with a passion_. He chuckled softly in the bleak dark, trudging slowly towards the bathroom.

The sharp, bright light caused his pupils to contract so quickly, he swore he could feel them. He rubbed his jawline and gazed in the mirror. Despite his bloodshot eyes and the dark circles imbedded under them (which he hadn't remembered seeing himself without in decades), his face still had a gentle glow cast over it. He reached for his toothbrush, and began to brush, and certainly with vigor. Following his daily brushing, he shaved and ran a comb through his hair quickly.

He headed into work with a smile on his face and a briefcase in his hand. A voice shook him out of his thoughts, upon meeting in the lobby. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" He turned to face a somewhat distraught Toby. His superior, however, was quite skilled in the masking of emotions. His face betrayed nothing. Sam got the general gist that he was distraught, though. So there was quite a large chance he was wrong.

"You're whistling."

"Yeah?" _Lose the frown and cheer up…put on a happy face_.

"And now you're humming."

The security guard allowed them both to walk through. His mind continued to run through the only lyrics he knew of the song.

"Sam, stop it."

"Yeah."

The day went by in a blur. Toby had spoken to the President and he said that it was all right for Sam to have a break from work to work the campaign trail. Sam and his friends (who were his staff, at the moment, as well as the President's) had decided on a simple slogan in Patriotic colors: Seaborn for President.

Saqm was preparing to head out on a bus and go tour. He had packed all of his bags, and Ainsley was still gathering the last of her things. They were going nationwide and they were going to go for a month. He clasped her hand in his, and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb fondly. "You ready?"

"Yeah."

"You sure you don't mind being seen in my presence? I'm sure they'd kick you out of some Republican club somewhere."

She smiled faintly. "No." And with that, they headed out of the door and toward the bus.


	10. Is It OK if I Call You Mine?

Title: Bipartisanship

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Rating: PG-13

Classification: R Sam/Ainsley

Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to Aaron Sorkin and all related parties. Oh, and the song is from _Singing in the Rain_, which belongs to MGM and all of its companies. Chapter title is from a song from _Fame_. So I'm pretty much borrowing from everyone.

Summary: Sam tries to decide whether or not he should go after Ainsley, the presidency, and a shot at happiness.

Author's Note: I'm on a roll this weekend. _Two _chapters! I hope you enjoy. Any characterization mistakes, I apologize. And definitely fluffish in nature.

-

Sam Seaborn wasn't the type to get nervous. When he first took his Bar (and passed with flying colors, might his ego add), he wasn't nervous. He was tired. He had stayed up the entire night to review _everything_, absolutely _everything_ they had done, and he felt sleepy…but prepared. As a child, he was never nervous. In fact, several classmates of his remembered him as arrogant. But now, Sam Seaborn realized with astounding mental clarity, that he was practically shaking in his black shoes. He felt a hand touch his shoulder. "You ready, Sam?" His throat felt dry, but he nodded. "You'll do fine."

What his friend didn't realize was that he was not nervous from the speech. He had given speeches before. He was used to the large audiences. They didn't faze him. What made him nervous was the dead weight in his right pants pocket. A very small black velvet box was causing his brain to beat at twice its normal rate.

His mind was reeling. Never before had he felt that his life was moving at such a high speed. He liked to think that he was in control of his life, that he made the decisions that affected it, when in fact, it was the other way around. His life controlled him. He sighed and shut his eyes a second. CJ's voice rang out making his temples pulsate with pain. "You all right, Sam?"

"Yeah," he rasped out softly. "I'll be fine." He felt his head pulsate again with the pain of his own words. _In an hour, you'll give your very first campaign speech. And an hour after that, you'll stereotypically be on one knee, proposing marriage. _His mind taunted him. He wasn't stupid. He knew the frailty of human life. Especially after what had happened at Rosslyn.

His eyes turned their gaze down at his own hands. _At my notecards_, he thought with astounding willpower. Perhaps if he said that he was merely observing the off-white bleached color of the notecards, he could convince himself of its truth. Honestly, he was merely observing his hands, and the quaking motion they were exercising. He had memorized his speech the night before. Perhaps if he ran through it in his head, it would help clear his mind. _Ainsley, you know that…_not _that _speech, dammit! He took a deep breath. _I thank the people of Kutztown graciously for allowing me to speak here. My name is Sam Seaborn and I'm running for President. Residing in such an agricultural area, you might believe that I will take the money and return it to the metropolises and try to urbanize areas. This is inaccurate, when you consider the statistic that we rely on farms everyday for vegetative sustenance, but more and more farms are foreclosing every day. _He took another breath and released it a few seconds later. Yes, that was much better.

He stared at he writing on the notecards. If he sent this to Quantico, surely they'd be able to analyze every aspect of him, psychologically speaking. They could tell that he buried himself in his work after the discovery of his father's mistress from the large loops. They could read that he was determined and he could be obstinate from the direction the dots of the Is were. He smiled faintly, but it died almost immediately after touching his lips.

The movement of the bus shook him out of his current reverie, and sent him whirling onto another train of thought. What would he do if he _was _elected? He had often sensed the President was under too much stress. Forget the four hundred thousand dollar salary. The amount of gray hairs each incumbent President gained while in office told of the horrors. Was he too nice of a guy for the job? Could he decide whether to send soldiers to Tijuana to rescue American citizens that there was no hope for? Could he abandon all hope in such hopeless situations? Did he even have the mettle to sit in the Situation Room and deliberate on scenarios that favored one life over another? What if the situation relied on time? Could he make a decision at the snap of a finger? He doubted himself. Was this too large a responsibility for him?

_You're a Leo_. His inner voice screeched out. What did that have to do with anything? A horoscope read to him quite a few years ago rang back out at him. _Leos enjoy partaking in challenges. They often envelop themselves in shrouds of thoughts of invincibility, often hiding their vulnerability_.

"Sam." Will Bailey's voice shook him out his thoughts. He stared down at his notecards again. It was becoming a nervous habit. His mind replayed the happenings of last night. It was so trivial. Three writers, holed up in one office, legal pads skewn everywhere, with a wastebasket overflowing with crumpled paper. They were all perfectionists. Arguments had filtered the air that night. Arguments ensued over the use of the word "spectacular," and other inane matters in the vernacular prose. "They're going to give you a ten-second intro, and then you're going to go up and deliver your speech, all right?" He nodded.

His ears heard the voice of the announcer, but his mind barely registered it. _You're going to propose! You're going to propose! _It rang out in his head repeatedly and shrilly, like a siren of some sort. Upon the announcement of his name and applause to some degree, he stepped up onto the platform and began to deliver his speech.

It was no lie, Sam Seaborn was definitely articulate. He always had been. Ever since his junior year of high school, when SAT fear had ravaged his brain, he had retained every fifty-cent word he had to memorize for that horrid test. But that test had gotten him accepted into one of the best schools in the country, and from there, to Gage Whitney, and on to the White House. He couldn't say he didn't appreciate the work it did for his career. "And with that, ladies and gentlemen, I have to say: e pluribus unum. Out of many, one. For we must adopt one person to represent the nation's wishes, we must adopt one train of thought, one method of action. Out of numerous streams of consciousness, we must form one coherent thought. Thank you." The other occupants of the room exploded the room with applause. He stepped back from the platform and was greeted with grins from his friends.

"You killed tonight, Sam. You did great."

"Thanks," he replied, his mind distracted. "Where's Ainsley?" He considered loosening the knot of his tie, but decided against it. He could breathe. If he convinced himself, he would.

"In your dressing room, Romeo." The tone dripped with an emotion. He couldn't place it. It wasn't disdain. It wasn't hatred. He felt there was a sprinkle of sarcasm, but now was not the time to analyze the different tones of someone's voice and the emotional undertones it carried. He took medium strides and opened his dressing room and was immediately surprised at the almost light-speed appearance of Ainsley in his arms. She seemed to have catapulted into his arms.

"You did great tonight, Sam," she said, kissing him. "If they don't vote for you, then they're idiots."

"Isn't that what the Electoral College is for? You got to thank the founding fathers for having back-up plans." He flashed a grin to go with his seemingly lighthearted sentence, but he felt that it fell short.

"Sam, back then, only the wealthy were _truly _literate. It's almost like _Animal Farm _where the other animals have to rely on the pigs and the dogs to make the decisions for them. That's what they wanted to avoid."

"Ainsley, George Orwell was born centuries after the Founding Fathers adopted the whole Electoral College system."

"I'm just saying there's truth there."

"Ainsley…" He shook his head in disbelief. He kissed her again and her senses became quite keen to the unique scent of him and the feel of his arms around her. "I love you. You know that, right?"

"Of course I do," she replied. She was taken aback when he reached for her hand and spun her.

"Dance with me," he whispered, and she obliged him. He placed his lips by her ear and began to sing softly. It was intriguing. Beguiling. Her vocabulary supplied her with words that didn't seem to fit. "_Life was a song. You came along. I lay awake the whole night through. If I but dared to think you cared, this is what I'd say to you. You were meant for me, and I was meant for you. Nature patterned you and when she was done, you were all the sweet things rolled up in one._" He spun her again and when she had finished her 360-degree turn, he was on his knee. Her breath caught in her throat and she found it difficult to breathe.

He was on one knee with a black velvet box cracked open. He gazed at her, his usually intense gaze accented by his cobalt irises toned down to a light, searching look. Her thoughts were everywhere. Her eyes flitted down to the ring. It was spectacular. It was a gold band, with two small sapphires set by a large diamond in the center. Not too large, as to be gaudy, but tastefully large, cut well.

"Ainsley, I'm so frazzled with nervous energy that I can't even form a coherent sentence, much less an eloquent one. What I'm trying to communicate is…um…will you be mine…matrimonially?" She breathed out a short, nervous laugh, as her eyes welled with tears.

"Yes," she said, softly. "Will you…put the ring on me?" Her voice was quavering and she was unsure of herself at the moment. She either felt like throwing up from the anxiety she felt or jumping his bones from the happiness she felt.

He pulled the ring gently out of its box. Just then, a celebratory Josh burst into the dressing room, at the moment Sam was beginning to slide it on her finger. "Hey, Sam! Everyone's—Oh my God!" Sam's cheeks flushed with slight embarrassment but he finished sliding it onto her finger. It rested beautifully on her left ring finger.

"Josh, you might want to leave now," Ainsley warned.

"Yeah." He pulled his head out of the space it had recently occupied and shut the door with a soft click. She kissed him fiercely and passionately, gently biting on his bottom lip. He groaned into her mouth, before pulling away.

"So where do you want to go for the honeymoon?"

She chuckled softly. "One-track mind," she smiled. "Why don't we work on getting the wedding planned first?"

"Sounds good," he replied, moving in to claim her lips again. She pulled away and rested her forehead against his.

"You know what this means though, right?" she asked.

"What?"

"You're _definitely _going to have to meet my parents."

"Let's not talk about this now," he said, kissing her again.

"When's a better time to talk about it?"

"I think the best time to talk about it would be when I'm in a state of inebriation." And he leaned in to kiss her again, his heart soaring with happiness.


	11. Creating a Speech 101

Title: Bipartisanship

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Rating: PG-13

Classification: R Sam/Ainsley

Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to Aaron Sorkin and all related parties.

Summary: Sam tries to decide whether or not he should go after Ainsley, the presidency, and a shot at happiness.

Author's Note: Life hates me. Sorry if characterizations are off. It's like 1:00 a.m. Oh, and massive leaping of the storyline. But this is me. And I'm not a patient girl. Blah. Enjoy and please review!

-

Sam Seaborn was usually a happy, carefree man. At the moment, he was a frustrated man who wanted to punch what would be his Chief-of-Staff if he got elected as POTUS, which he was seriously doubting with every passing second. Speeches were important. Campaigning was important. He realized these facts and he knew them. He practically had been living them when he came to see Bartlet speak at Nashua. At the moment, he was no longer paying attention. Ten hours he had been cooped in this room—ten hours of his life, wasted—and the last hour and a half were spent with bickering between Toby and Will, and then Will and Josh, and then Josh and Toby over the wording of the speech. Right now, Sam was observing the fine, sanded hardwood that was the door. _Ah, sweet emancipation. How I long to reach you right now. _

"Sam, are you listening?" Toby's voice distracted him out of his stupor. Was he fast enough? Could he sprint towards the door, leap out and dodge all sorts of people and obstacles, before arriving in a taxicab? No, he doubted it. Toby would be so livid that he would be tackled within milliseconds. Tenths of milliseconds even. He turned his head to face the other man.

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

"No." The other man released a guttural grunt of annoyance and frustration. His mind relapsed into thoughts of his role in the Bartlet administration. He had been useful, hadn't he? He had gotten Mendoza elected onto the Supreme Court. Well, Toby and he had gotten him on the Supreme Court. That wasn't the easiest road to travel. His mind quickly digressed onto Robert Frost's poems, and then, to Robert Frost himself.

"Read it." Sam picked up the paper, scribbled over by all of them, with words written and crossed out and rewritten. Writing sure was a process. If only his third grade English teacher could see him now. There were no web charts, no outlines. Just plain old brainstorming and revising. He was sure she'd suffer an aneurysm of some kind.

"Ladies and gentlemen…" He paused, waiting for the commentary he knew was going to filter the air. His throat swelled a little, and he imagined the oxygen molecules hiding in a corner, waiting for Toby's restrained fury commentary.

"That's always a good start." Josh's sarcasm rang out and a few glares were issued at him. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "The primaries are in two days and we've been in this room for ten hours, with a half-assed attempt at a speech." More glares.

"Our Founding Fathers wanted to make sure that our freedoms in our beloved country were never restricted upon, but that we were also not allowed to gallivant around and commit crimes without chance for prosecution…" Josh sighed.

"Yes, Josh?" Toby's voice was thin and on edge.

"I didn't say anything."

"You made an audible sound. You want to say something."

"I think we should stop sounding we're lawyers addressing a jury. It sounds like an opening statement, Toby." Another few hours passed, the yellow legal pad died and another one was retrieved. They started writing it. Again.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Sam read, bloodshot eyes darting to and fro. He barely had enough energy to stifle a yawn. He tossed a comment to Josh and Josh left to fetch coffee for the group. "In the Constitution, it states 'we the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union' and cites examples for the leader of our esteemed country. However, some of our Presidents have been unable to measure up to this sacred checklist, of sorts. We have listened to the Republicans decry liberals and conservative Democrats as being weak-hearted. One of the stronger Republican nominees is Senator McAllister. Ladies and Gentlemen, the primaries are arriving and it is time to decide who shall go on the esteemed ballot. This is a democracy, ladies and gentlemen, and ultimately, it is your decision that counts."

Josh returned with large cups of coffee for all. He handed them out and they all sipped from it half-heartedly. At the moment, all of them wanted nothing more than to retreat back to their homes and enjoy some well-deserved sleep. "Do you think we should change democracy to democratic republic? Because we're not a complete democracy. We're a democrat republic."

"Josh, we go with democracy because that's what they've pretty much been taught since fourth grade."

"Now that the topic's been mentioned, wouldn't that be a great way to bring up public education systems in the country? I mean, they're delicing. They've _been _declining." Toby sighed again.

"Continue reading, Sam."

"Through the Bill of Rights, citizens are granted rights that no governmental body is allowed to detract from. In spite of this, there have been detractions in the past. As a Democratic candidate, I would make sure you keep your rights." Sam muttered as he read the rst of the speech. "Toby? I think it's fine now. It's well-written. Thirteen hours. Thirteen hours we've been here. Is there any possibility I could get home before the clock strikes three?"

The older man reached for the speech and gazed at it with a harsh look. His eyes scanned the speech, reading it once through. He stretched a bit. "Yeah, I guess." Files were loaded up and packed into briefcases or bags. Glances of exit greetings were exchanged by the men and they each headed out a different door.

Sam Seaborn packed his stuff into the passenger seat of the car before getting in the driver's seat. He quickly downed half the cup of coffee before settling himself in and buckling himself. He placed the key in the ignition and started the car. He drove through the endless circles of Washington DC with ease, although a wrong turn made him end up in Chevy Chase. He backtracked and arrived at his apartment somewhat quickly.

He took his items and headed up to his apartment. Dropping his things on the living room floor, fatigue rushed through him again and he strided toward the couch. Collapsing on it with a soft groan, he laid down in a more comfortable position. The cold of the night seemed to filter in, and invisibly drape over him. He felt it glide down over his eyes, the slimy feeling of the cold gripping him stronger than anything he had ever felt. With one last, half-open eye into the real consciousness of life, he succumbed to darkness.


	12. Wakeful Slumber

Title: Bipartisanship

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Rating: PG-13

Classification: R

Disclaimer: I don't own it. If I did, King Corn would have went differently, Sam Seaborn would never have left, and Sam would be campaigning for president (with Ainsley by his side). So yeah. If you watch these eps, you can tell…so not mine.

Author's Note: Yeah. Random double-posting again. Quite a few chapters left in it, I think. Review. Enjoy.

-

Sam Seaborn felt a tapping on his shoulder. His mind shook the thought off. _It'll go away. Go back to bed. _Before he could exercise what his mind and body wanted him to, he heard a voice. "Sam," it was teasing, with a lilt. He could practically hear the smile, if that was possible. A smell began to prick its way up his nostrils. It smelled like hazelnut. The warmth of the steam was making him uncomfortable. His eyelids began to slowly open, despite his efforts to keep them closed. His eyes fell on a cherub. It looked so radiant, absolutely glowing. His eyes focused and he saw that it was Ainsley in a plain robe; wet hair combed back, crouched, holding a mug of coffee under his nose. Her blue eyes flicked up to look at him and he smiled, reaching for the mug. She pulled it away. "Coffee," he rasped out, his voice lost somewhere in the throes of sleep. She shook her head.

"Brush your teeth first. Morning breath," she replied.

He got up, albeit reluctantly, and headed for the bathroom. She heard the word "Republicans" within his mutterings. She smiled and headed toward the kitchen. A television, strategically placed in the kitchen, was turned on to C-Span. She checked the time. She didn't have to go in until nine. She didn't know about him. She had gotten home about one last night. He wasn't home. She had gotten to bed and she still heard nothing about him. That morning, she had found him, asleep on the sofa. She had gazed at the dark circles under his eyes with concern. _How late did he stay out til last night? _He returned and snatched up the coffee. She leaned in for a kiss. He pressed insistently against her lips and she smiled, before pulling away.

"Now there's a morning greeting no girl would mind facing," she quipped. He grinned. "Sam, you got the speech ready?" He nodded. "How long did it take you?" He cast her a look and she knew. She watched him down the coffee, black, like water. He got up and poured himself another cup.

"Anything going on?"

"Not really. When are the primaries? Day after tomorrow?" He nodded. "You should get ready for work. You know, you _are _running for the Presidency."

He grinned. "Really? I wasn't aware."

She scooted her chair over, closer to his, and leaned against his shoulder. "You still have to meet my parents."

"I have an idea," he said. She cast him a glance that read _Yeah_? He continued. "I could go meet your parents when I'm in North Carolina for a stop. And you could meet mine…y'know…at the wedding or something." She looked exasperated. "Because Thanksgiving and Christmas are after the election."

"And when do you propose we get married?"

"Well, if you're asking for my _professional _opinion, we could get married in November, after the election."

"Who would plan it?"

"You could…I don't know…enlist Donna's help. Or Margaret's."

"And we'd get married in November?" He nodded and searched her eyes for her response. They did not fail him. He gazed into the glimmering orbs and saw that she supported him. That she loved him. And that was all he needed to know. He placed a kiss to the top of her head. She smiled.

"You could meet my parents while you were on the campaign trail, while I plan the wedding. Then, we get married in November." She explained the plan out loud, testing the waters in the air. He nodded. She said nothing for a while and just breathed, their scents intermingling in the air. A thought popped into her head out of nowhere. Well, not out of nowhere. _This is what our house will smell like_.

"Does that sound all right?" His tentative voice filled the void of their silence. She smiled and released a contented sigh.

"Yes. We could get a nice fall wedding." He let out a laugh. She jabbed him lightly with her index finger. "If you get elected, we could get married in the Rose Garden."

"You know what, Ainsley?"

"Hm?"

"We might actually have to go to work today."

She checked the time and realized that they would indeed have to get going. She gave him another lingering kiss and went to change.

-

Sam Seaborn went into work with an improved attitude than when he left. He treaded on the carpet towards his office, embracing the aloofness of the closed door. He stopped. Or perhaps he was reading too much into a closed door. He thought with a somewhat childlike glee that if he was President and Toby was on his staff, he could talk about making an action-adventure series with Pilgrims every Thanksgiving, rather than discuss the Latin word for "yam." Although he still remembered it was diascorea.

He sat in his chair and leaned back, pulling files from his briefcase. Now that he was awake, he'd reread the speech. It wasn't that they weren't good writers or anything, but nobody truly functions well surviving on coffee and working hours upon hours straight. No matter how much his ego would try to persuade him, it just couldn't be done.

The day after tomorrow, he would deliver the speech and the primaries would happen. He'd figure out if he'd be a main player on the Democratic side of the ballot. He hoped he was. And then, after all of that, he would campaign. His goal was to become the next President of the United States of America. And somewhere, a voice rang out within him. _And McAllister sure as hell isn't going to take this from me_.


	13. Champagne and Sam's Moment of Jubilee

Title: Bipartisanship

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Rating: PG-13

Classification: R

Disclaimer: I don't own it. If I did, King Corn would have went differently, Sam Seaborn would never have left, and Sam would be campaigning for president (with Ainsley by his side). So yeah. If you watch these eps, you can tell…so not mine.

Author's Note: Whoa. Triple posting. Holy scheisse. Sorry for mis-characterizations or confusing timeline things. I think I'm going to go straight from here to Sam packing for campaigning to actual bus campaigning next chappie. So watch out for that. I might post that tonight too.

-

Sam Seaborn, for quite possibly the third time in his life, was in a state of immense euphoria. This, right now, was his moment of jubilee. He felt like he could fly. Or take over the Capitol building. Even become President of the United States. He probably shouldn't attempt any one of the actions he had just mentally listed. But he was daring. He'd try the third one. If he tried the first, he'd probably land with a gigantic splat in the middle of Dupont Circle. Not only would that not be pretty, he'd be the police's job to clean up. If he tried the second one, he'd probably alienate all the Republicans in Congress. Best not to do that when they held the majority. They'd probably spear his head on a pitchfork and go around yelling, "Second amendment! Second amendment!" He snorted with laughter. So that was probably not going to happen. But he never knew. They were Republican Congressmen. It might.

Josh, Donna, CJ, and Toby were ecstatic. He was sure that if he and Toby weren't in the room, Josh would start making out with Donna. He grinned. Ainsley leaned against him and nudged him. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You just won the _primaries_, Sam. Toby and Josh are downing flutes of champagne like nothing and you're here, practically lurking in the corner."

"I am not _lurking_," he replied. He went over and fetched the bottle of champagne when he realized they wouldn't notice. He placed the bottle near his lips and took a sip. He licked his lips. He held the bottle out to her. "Want some?" She grabbed the neck of the bottle and took a sip, and then quickly kissed him. Her tongue worked its way into his mouth and he tasted the sweetness of the champagne mixed with the unique taste of her. She pulled away and stood there, in such achingly close proximity to him, panting.

"You just won the fucking primaries, Sam. Show some excitement for God's sake." At the exact moment he had found out that he had actually won a spot on the ballot, Josh put on some Doobie Brothers and Toby ran out for the booze. It sounded so bawdy, but it was all good fun. Josh, in his drunken stupor, was now arguing with Donna on the finer points of Sun Tzu, and throughout this argument, he told bits and pieces of a story of how he almost stabbed himself when he was learning archery.

-

The next morning, Sam woke up…with no recollection of where he was, how he ended there, and what had happened the previous night. And to top it off, he had one of the biggest headaches of his life. He turned and cracked open an eye and spotted Ainsley, as naked as he, asleep, her platinum hair askew. He grinned and got up and headed for the shower.

This was amazing. He was actually going to go run for President. He was going to attempt to fill Josiah Bartlet's place. Stepping out of the shower, he walked into the kitchen and prepared a glass of water. He placed it on the bedside table, with two tablets of ibuprofen next to it. Returning to the kitchen, he ingested two tablets and waited for the throbbing in his head to cease.

An hour passed and Ainsley walked into the kitchen, greeting him with a kiss. She was grateful for his thoughtfulness. "We have to go to work, you know." She nodded. "I have to take leave to campaign." She nodded again.

"I'd come with you."

"Of course." He tried to do the math in his head. It was no use. Sam was never a mathematical person. He was an English person, a History person, and a Government person. He was _not _a math person. "If I go on the road 2 months at a time and I go four times, once in each season…do you think I'd be able to muster up enough…votes?" Sam hated discounting people. People were human beings, living and breathing, and should be treated as such, and not just another statistic.

"Yeah. I think you, Josh, and Toby can create an eloquent image. You'd have enough charisma and eloquence to charm the people, I think. That and your good naturedness." His cheeks flushed slightly with red. He kissed her cheek.

"I'm going to head into work. You know, do some work before I go campaigning."

"Good idea."

Sam Seaborn headed out the door and with a lingering glance over his shoulder, headed towards his car. After starting it, he headed for 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, where hopefully, he would find solace in his work.


	14. All that Jazz

Title: Bipartisanship

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Rating: PG-13

Classification: R

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own it. Otherwise, I could keep Josh, Toby, and Sam, and hide CJ in my locker to be funny when I need her to be. Heh. I love 'em all. But John Wells has them. Alas!

Author's Note: Yet another chapter. Blame it on the tea. If I go into a hiatus, well…yeah. Please review. Oh, and I realize that it's pretty much impossible for Josh, Sam, _and _Toby to all be out at once. But you know, pretend it is possible.

-

Sam Seaborn stared at his duffel bag. What had he packed? Suits. After suits. After suits. Oh, yes, and two pairs of shoes and a shitload of socks. And his boxers. He was after all going for months. And Ainsley was coming along. He grinned. Josh and Toby were sure to get a kick out of that. _Sorry for the noise last night, guys. But it was pretty excellent sex. _He stared at the bag again. He was really going to do this. He was going to travel around the country, not with the President and Leo and the rest of the Senior Staff, but to campaign for _himself_. The thoughts still hadn't begun to sink in yet. But on his last night in DC for a few months, he was going to take Ainsley out. He loved her so much and they both had been so busy lately. But better to be discreet and enticing than reveal it immediately.

He pushed down on the overflowing duffel bag and zipped it up. Better take along a bookbag too, full of files and speeches, in case he loses anything. He wouldn't know how to function without his proper working materials. He quickly loaded his materials into the bookbag and headed out of the door, dumping his duffel bag and bookbag in the back of his car, he decided to make a quick stop at a specialty store he had often visited.

The bell rang shrilly when he opened the door. He walked to the counter and asked for a card. He gave the woman specific wording and gave her the address. After paying the woman, he left and headed for the White House. He arrived and accidentally stumbled into Josh. His coffee spilled all over his shirt. He looked up at Sam with a half-attempt at a glare. Sam supplied an apology and skittered nervously towards his office. He stopped and peered into Toby's office. "You ready for tomorrow morning?" The man gave him a look and he popped his head out of the office. He had things to finish up also.

-

Ainsley Hayes sat in her office, fanning herself with the brief she had just finished reading. She had turned her attention to the latest one. It never ceased to amaze her how some judges interpreted the Constitution. There was a tentative knock at the door. She hoped it wasn't another exterminator. They had all failed to rid her office of the roaches that had taken to infesting. Ugh. Steam Pipe Trunk Distribution Venue indeed. "Come in." A delivery man walked inside and placed a card on her desk, before heading out. She picked up the card and felt the parchment. This must have been pricey. She flipped it over and read the message, scrawled in amazingly formal calligraphy.

"I've prepared something special tonight," it read. "Buy a formal gown and meet me at the apartment around 8 p.m. Love, Sam." She realized with startling clarity that the parchment was melting onto her hand. She lifted her index finger and her tongue swept out to tentatively taste some of the melted parchment. It was chocolate! Apparently, amazingly fine, processed white chocolate, with milk or dark chocolate writing. She grinned. Sam.

-

Sam was certain this was a circle of hell that lay undiscovered. At least until now. He was trapped…in dinner…with two Republican Congressmen from the planets Condescending and Patronizing. Senator Whilton and Senator Traine were both in their sixties and they enjoyed to laugh at him. A lot. This meeting was arranged so they could talk about the latest amendment they wanted to get past. Unlike their other ones, which had restricted each right individualy, this pretty much covered all rights guaranteed in the Bill of Rights. And Sam was convinced they could start a government system all on their own that surpassed Fascism and Nazism.

"Sam, unlike whatever you're thinking, we're not Fascist and we're not trying to restrict any rights," Senator Whilton croaked out.

"Right. Not restrict, you're trying to eliminate."

"Now, hold on there. Watch what you're saying, young man."

"Sir, all due respect, this constitutional amendment would basically restrict, or eliminate, all the rights guaranteed to the American people in the Bill of Rights. It also alienates those that aren't Catholic or any other dividends of that religion, and declares that the government should hold fast to one belief, solely, and ask all American citizens to adopt that belief. Now, if you're not going to do anything else but eat and call me a 'whippersnapper,' and tell me that I'm wrong, I'm going to leave now." He began to pack his things. "Don't expect to pass that Constitutional Amendment. I don't like the Republicans. It's not a secret, but I'm hoping that at least a few dozen of them has enough sense to tell you that the constitutional amendment you're suggesting is unconstitutional to the core. Good night, gentlemen." He packed up his things and with a slight nod of his head, left the restaurant.

He returned to the White House and began to collect his stuff. He popped into Josh's office, to find him seated and speaking to Donna about something seemingly trivial. He threw a genial greeting Donna's way and told Josh he'd see him bright and early the next day on the Seaborn campaign bus. How odd that sounded…tasted, rolling off of his tongue through his lips. It felt odd.

He stopped and did the same with Toby, although the older man looked like he was about to attack Sam with a stick. He quickly exited the building and headed for his car. Quickly dumping his new items in the back with his duffel bag and bookbag, he got into the car and decided to drive towards the club before Ainsley received the notion that he stood her up.

He arrived and he quickly found the table he reserved. And the woman sitting at the table looked spectacular. And he hadn't even seen her face yet. He supposed she heard him coming. She stood up and looked at him and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. She was dressed in a burgundy dress, with spaghetti straps and sequins subtly placed along the bodice. The skirt fell just a few inches beyond the knees, displaying her shapely legs and leading down to the high heels that her dainty feet were bequeathed in.

"Sam," she greeted, enveloping him in a hug. She sat and he sat at the seat across from her. She smiled. "I ordered coffee already." He smiled back. She rested her head on her hands and leaned forward, batting her eyelashes. He laughed. "Where are we, anyway?"

"We're in a jazz club. I took you here so we could dance and have some recreational fun before we leave to travel the country like a traveling circus."

"That's a bit redundant," she replied. The soft jazz began to filter into the room. A man in a corner was smoking a cigar and drinking scotch. Sam was vaguely reminded of Toby. The pianist's fingers moved deftly over the keys and a woman walked out onto the stage. The pianist began to extend the introduction with an improvisation of his own, before finishing the introduction with a flourish, leading into the first verse. The jazz singer's alto began to spread across the airspace of the room. Couples were getting up and dancing. Sam got up and offered Ainsley his hand. She grinned.

They headed out into the center of the dance floor. His left hand was poised on her hip, and his right hand clasped hers loosely. Her right hand was on his shoulder and they danced closely. She looked up at him and he smiled back at her. She emitted a contented sigh. He gazed at her. "You're perfect, Ainsley," he said, waxing poetic. "A deity in a mortal form." He brushed aside a lock of her hair and kissed her neck. "And on the campaign, people…McAllister's people are going to say stuff about you." She silenced him with a soft look.

"I know, Sam. Besides, I'm one of them, so if he says anything, he knows I'm smart enough to come back with a better answer." He looked at her with a sentimental expression. "What?"

"You admitted it." He laughed.

"What?"

"You said, 'Besides, I'm one of them.' So you admitted that Republicans are not truly people," he joked. She punched his arm playfully.

"Watch what you say. I'm a Republican."

"You're my Ainsley," he replied. "There's a difference." They danced like that throughout the night until they returned home and Ainsley finished packing. That night, as they lay in bed together, he gazed out the window at the lustrous moon, shining beautifully in the dusky night.

"What are you looking at?" Ainsley asked, her voice groggy with drowsiness.

"The moon. Shakespeare loved it. There are allusions to it everywhere. In _Romeo and Juliet_, Romeo says the moon is jealous of Juliet's radiance."

"Sam…it's late. Stop thinking about Shakespeare."

"'Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind,'" he quoted. He kissed her bare shoulder. "Good night." And Sam was overwhelmed by both the sense of longing and love he felt and the fatigue his eyes could no longer restrain, and he drifted to sleep.


	15. Shock and Horror

Title: Bipartisanship

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Classification: R

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: If I had it my way, Toby would be my teddy bear and Josh could easily be stashed in my locker. But no. They're John Wells. Feh.

Author's Note: This chapter sucks. Sorry.

**Dedicated**: To _M&M_, for being in the chat, and babbling and helping.

It was pouring. The rain thumped heavily against the bus, creating a steady cadence. Sam was still awake, having been attacked by a bout of insomnia. He leaned against the window and felt the chill of the air and the rain. He had lived in New York City. He didn't mind the cold. Nor the smell of fish water. Another perk from living in that glorious city. He gazed around the bus. Toby was catching a quick nap, as was Josh. Ainsley, presumably, was in the back, still talking to a Republican senator. No, not talking. Arguing. He smiled.

Where were they headed? They were headed to North Carolina, as Ainsley had continually reminded him. Yes, he was somewhat apprehensive about meeting his fiancee's parents, but who wouldn't be apprehensive? He had never met them before. And if they were as staunchly Republican as he heard they were, he would definitely be hated. Banned from the Hayes' house. A condescending side of his brain smirked and imagined them living in a log cabin, but this was not the 1800s, and he was pretty sure Ainsley's father wasn't a lumberjack.

Ainsley stepped tentatively out from the back of the bus to where he sat by the window. She sat next to him and leaned against him, resting her head against his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head. She fluttered her eyes closed. Through the silence of the night, her rasping whisper cut the air sharply. "You nervous about your speech in Raleigh?" He chuckled.

"No. I read a speech, I shake hands, I ensorcell the people. It's what follows that worries me." She propped her head up to gaze at him better.

"You've been talking to Josh lately, haven't you?" He shook his head. "You used the word 'ensorcell.'"

"Are you suggesting that I have a less than stellar vocabulary?" She laughed.

"No." She kissed him on the cheek chastely. "Go to sleep. You should be well-rested for tomorrow." He nodded and watched her disappear into the back again. He missed her warm presence in the morning.

They arrived in Raleigh the following day. It was cold and rainy, but he embraced the climate. He spoke at a few universities, shaking hands and greeting people as he traveled from point A to point B. His heart was in his speeches but a part of it, taking with it some ventricles and some veins and arteries, was still uneasy about the meeting with Ainsley's parents. He, however, knew how to act and therefore, put all effort into his public speaking. Marc Antony didn't win the people of Rome over just because he had a large vocabulary.

Buttons were doled out, as were bumper stickers. Sam wondered where they had money to sponsor this kind of campaign. He didn't question. Usually, his questions were bad news. So he was silent. He felt like a figurehead. The President was supposed to have power, but really, it was his staff who assessed the damage and sorted through the rubble to discover what was important and what wasn't.

After the speech, he walked off the stage, and rolled his shoulders a bit, in an effort to relieve the tension. Ainsley walked over and greeted him with a kiss. Josh and Toby were standing off to the side arguing about something. He heard a rough chuckling and looked up. Ainsley turned around. Her mouth was agape for a few seconds. "I didn't know you'd be here," she whispered. She turned back around. With an apologetic grin, she said quickly, "Sam, these are my parents."


	16. Meet the Parents

Title: Bipartisanship

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Classification: R

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: Sorry if this is crappy. I wrote it about 10 minutes before I had to leave for the parade. Um…hope they're in character. And please review.

* * *

Ainsley sat in the living room of her childhood home, between her parents and Sam. She often dreaded this meeting that was supposed to occur so much later. Her father was a staunch Republican and Sam…was not. She feared that politics would interfere with their initial impressions. And it didn't help any that her father was extremely overprotective. _No, not at all_, she thought as she saw her father eye Sam, as if he was a piece of property her father was inspecting.

Sam was not intimidated by a lot of things. But, standing there, being glanced over by Ainsley's father, who happened to be somewhat of a portly man, Sam was nervous and just a bit intimidated. _Okay, more than a bit_, he admitted. But the larger man had dancing eyes, so Sam hoped he would make a good impression. It would not do to break up the whole Hayes family because her father had not approved of him.

"You're a bit scrawny," the older man guffawed. "Don't you eat anything?"

"I work a lot, so I eat a lot of take-out." While Ainsley's mother wore a shocked expression, her father set his jaw and was looking over Sam once more. Her mother bustled into the kitchen. Her father rolled his eyes and turned to look at the spot she had stood.

"Louise, where the hell'd you go?"

"I'm in the kitchen." The older man headed into the room, and looked at her, quickly tying her apron on.

"Why?"

She squinted, and placed her hands on her hips. "That boy eats nothing but greasy take-out every day, and I'm going to make him some food." The older man shut his eyes for a second.

"You're going to make him food." She nodded. He sighed, exasperated, and headed back out into the living room. "Well, son, apparently, she's gonna make you food." He slumped into a chair, and Sam and Ainsley sat next to each other on the sofa. He watched them carefully. She began to toy with her engagement ring. That was not lost on Sam.

"What are your intentions with my daughter?" His voice was gruff and the statement was random, and Sam was taken aback. Ainsley's face flushed with slight embarrassment. She felt like a teenager again.

"Well, I plan to marry her," Sam stated, simply.

"How're you going to be able to support her if you're at work all the time? You can't have a long, happy marriage just on money."

"Well, she works a lot too. And I'll see her. Besides, if all goes well, we'll be in the White House."

"That's right. You're running against McAllister." He leaned back in his chair and seemed to ponder something. The sound of sizzling from the kitchen was the only thing that could be heard. "What about children?"

Sam felt like all he needed was a bright light in his face for it to be a stereotypical interrogation. "I want some." The man rolled his eyes and let out a laugh.

"Of course you want some. How are you going to support them if you're in the White House? I heard stories from the Bartlet administration. If she," he stopped to point to Ainsley, "is flying out to Colombia all the time to teach English or something, and you're off planning war, who the hell is going to watch your infant or your toddler?"

"We will."

"Son, you can't be in two places at once." Sam opened his mouth to reply but he cut him off. "Besides, what are you going to do? Bring the baby into the War Room or something. Have him spitting up all over the plans to invade Sweden or something?"

Sam was thankful when Louise yelled for them to come to lunch. He certainly didn't enjoy the interrogation session. He linked his hand with Ainsley's and they headed into the kitchen. _Well, this was going well_, he thought. _Thank God I have a day or two to convince him that I'm a good person. _His jaw set as his pessimistic voice began to list off all the things that could happen if he wasn't able to convince him he was a good person. _Well, we could always get married without their blessing…and I could be ostracized…and they could have a family feud. _He released a breath. _…sounds like a plan. _Louise smiled as she set the plates in front of them.

"Go ahead, honey." Sam glanced around nervously for a second, before he began to eat. _Can't exactly split up a family on an empty stomach, can I? _


	17. Postponement

Title: Bipartisanship

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Classification: R

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: Sorry if this is crappy. I wrote it 3:30 or so in the morning, so not entirely awake. I'm sorry if this seems a little angsty. Please enjoy. And no beta, so all mistakes are mine. I hope they're in character. And it shifts POV kind of in the middle, which is a bit odd, I suppose.

* * *

Sam Seaborn was uncomfortable. And it wasn't emotional discomfort. No, emotional discomfort would require the presence of Adam, his fiancee's father. Emotional discomfort that he had received in all his time spent in her house. Thank God he was leaving today. He was in physical discomfort. He felt squished and there seemed to be a weight on his hips. He elicited a groan as it shifted. A weight that moved. He opened his eyes. He was in one of his deepest states of grogginess ever. The blurs started to fade and definitive shapes began to replace them. Ainsley was on his lap. _Ah. That explains the weight. _Suddenly, like walls closing around a claustrophobic, he realized where he was and what was going on. He bolted under the covers and away from her touch. She laughed softly. 

"Sam?"

"Ainsley, we're in your parents' home. Your childhood home. Where your father is never more than a hatchet's length away." She rolled her eyes.

"My father isn't going to kill you, Sam." Shepulled the covers backand kissed him. When she pulled away, he resumed speaking.

"Ainsley, any other place, I would be glad, if not overeager. But here?" There was a knock at the door. "You see?" he hissed.

"Ains? You awake yet?" The deep rumble of her father's voice boomed through. She called out a reply.

"Yes, daddy. I'm up."

"All right. Get that boy…"

"He has a name!"

"All right, all right. Get _Sam _up. Breakfast is going to be ready in a couple minutes." Upon the sound of her creaking stairs and her father's loud steps, Sam felt it was safe enough to peek out from under the covers.

"You can't tell me," she said, positioning her hands on her hips, "that you're scared of my father."

"Yes, I can…and I can be grammatically correct about it too. No dangling modifiers or anything." A smirk danced on her lips and he smiled. She walked over and kissed him again.

"Get dressed and we'll go down to breakfast." He dressed casually, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and they headed down to breakfast, hands linked. Upon entering the kitchen, Sam noted that Ainsley's eyes said that someone familiar that she wasn't expecting was sitting at the table. Besides her mother and her father, there was another guy, and something primitive inside him told him to be jealous and angry. He certainly could muster up the jealousy but the rage wasn't in him. Not at the moment.

"Hey, Ains," Adam greeted with a big, toothy grin. "Remember Zach? He was your Prom Date." _Yes, well beyond the formulation of jealousy stage. _She flushed and walked over, sitting in an empty chair. He followed and sat in the one beside her.

"Zach Edelbert," greeted the man.

"Uh…Sam Seaborn," he replied, taking his hand and shaking it firmly.

"You're the Democrat."

"Yeah."

"So, anyway, Ains, he's been dying to see you since Senior Year." Sam heard a bit of a matchmaking tone in the man's voice. He could recognize it immediately due to his mother's incessant attempts at matching him with a girl she met through a friend at the weekly canasta game. He usually declined, although her "matchmaking" voice had been catalogued into his mind, like the President's signals.

"Whatcha been up to, Ainsley?"

"Well, I'm enga—" Her father interrupted.

"She's been doing _tons _of stuff, hasn't she? She went to Law School, and became a lawyer. She was on _Capitol Beat _and she completely _creamed _Sam there. He didn't know where Kirkwood was, can you believe it?"

"Kirkwood?"

"It's a city, Zach," Ainsley replied. "Besides, I'm enga—"

"And then, she got hired to work for the White House! Can you believe it, Zach? Those goddamned Democrats, no offense, Sam, wanted her so they could figure out what they were doing."

"Dad!" her voice rose to a shrill pitch. "_I'm engaged_, Zach."

"Oh," he replied. An awkward silence followed. "That's nice."

"It's nothing serious, Zach," Adam continued. "I'm sure that she'd still be willing to…"

"Dad!" Her voice was still shrill, but she was serious. Her tone meant that she was angry. Adam puffed up his chest in a show of masculinity and glared at her. She returned the stare. "Can I speak to you out on the back porch, please?" Her tones were curt. He nodded. The sound of chair legs scraping against hardwood could be heard, and then, steps.

She walked out onto the back porch. "Dad, what are you doing?" He said nothing. "Are you trying to set me up with Zach? Dad, for God's sake, I'm engaged!"

"Don't say His name in vain."

She sighed, exasperated. Leave it to her father to pick up on a detail rather than the message. Missing the forest for the trees. "I'm _engaged_, Dad. You can't set me up with Zach. I'm about to be married and all. What is your problem with Sam?" She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him. "Hm? What is _wrong _with him that you find it such a _crisis _for us to get married?"

"That boy isn't right for you, Ainsley!"

"And how do you know?"

"_I _know. And you remember to respect your elders. Your mother and I were a match made in Heaven, and I _know_ when a match is right and when a match isn't. And that boy isn't right for you."

"And Zach is?" She huffed out a breath in frustration.

"No. But he's better for you than that Sam kid." The shrill ringing of her cell phone alerted her to another matter. She quickly answered it. "Yeah? No. Go ahead, Josh. I don't care. Yeah. I'll be over then. Bye." She clicked off the phone and faced her father.

"Daddy, I love you to death, but I love Sam. And no matter how much you want me to be with Zach, it isn't going to happen." A silence followed."I'm leaving." With that, she headed up to her room to pack the scant things she had brought.

She returned to the bus and caught up with him. "Hey, Sam!" He paused in his movement. He had changed from his t-shirt and jeans to a suit. "I'm sorry about my father." He looked up and she saw the torrent of conflicting emotions in his eyes.

"I think," he began, his voice raspy with emotion, "that we should postpone the wedding." She stopped breathing and only when the burning pain in her chest begin did she start again.

"What?" she whispered.

"Not indefinitely," he instantaneously replied. "Not…forever."

"You're not doing this because of my father, are you, Sam? We can get married without his blessing, you know. He's just…living in the past." He shook his head.

"I love you, Ainsley. And I know that you love me. But I'm not going to split up your family. I don't want us to get married without your parents or your family there. I don't want you to have this grudge against him because of me." He paused and looked at her. "If you want to…keep the ring on, that's fine."

A sense of honesty compelled her, and before she knew what she was doing, she reached for the ring and was slowly loosening it off of her finger. She pulled it off and handed it to him. Her hands were shaking badly. He looked at her state, obviously concerned. "Ainsley, are you all right?" She nodded absently. "I have to give a speech. Why don't you go on the bus and lay down." She nodded again, her eyes strangely devoid of emotion.

She did not know how she had managed to get onto the bus without tripping or falling. She walked down the length of the bus to the back, where the beds were. No, not beds. Sleeping spaces. They were too small to be called beds. She crept into an empty one and sealed the curtains. And in the emptiness of the enclosed space, she wept.


	18. Diminunation

Title: Bipartisanship

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Classification: For this chap? A, and R

Rating: Er…PG-1—I mean, T?

Disclaimer: Wow. Could you imagine how much John Wells would kill me if they were mine?

Author's Note: Definitely wrote this while I was watching the Incredibles. You know, Edna inspires me so much. I love her. "So ask me now before I again become sane." Anyway, enjoy. Hope they're in character. Lots of thanks to Morgan, who beta'd.

* * *

She needed alcohol. Excessive amounts of alcohol. And where would she find something like that? In the liquor cabinet on the bus. She felt a little woozy as she poured herself more whiskey. Her father had always preferred whiskey to anything else. "A man's drink," he called it. She downed the shot of whiskey. A thought seemed to meander into her mind, elbowing its way through the haze. _Who knew Democrats consumed this much liquor? _She had not moved. She had stayed in the little hiding space, curtains drawn, with a full bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. She wondered if Sam was worried about her. And then she pushed the thought from her mind.

She needed to forget about him. She needed to drink herself into an unconscious stupor. In the back of her mind, a nagging thought persisted that the phrase was redundant. Like she gave a shit. The two main objectives in her mind right now were drink, and forget. And if she could accomplish both by just exercising the first, so be it. Then, the random thought prodded through. What if she died? With a bitter smile, she mentally replied. _Then he'd be sorry. He'd be sorry I drank to forget him. _Pursing her lips, she poured another shot of whiskey and downed it.

She heard approaching noises, and she tried to curl into the corner. Except, there was no room to do anything but sit there. She heard the sound, and before she had time to react, the curtain was drawn open. It was Josh. "Ainsley, what are you doing here?"

She smirked. "What does it _look _like I'm doing here?" she quipped. She was master of the cutting sarcasm. Yes, she had been Queen of the Quips in her day. Quips. Q-Tips. God, she'd love to stab Sam with a Q-Tip right now. Especially if he would die. _Could you die if you were stabbed with a Q-Tip? _

"Probably not," came the reply.

She blushed. "Did I say that out loud?"

"Yeah. Come on, you're going to your room." He took her arm and as she began to follow him in the hallway, it was then she realized that she shared a room with Sam. Because they were engaged. _Were _engaged. Not any longer. He left her by the doorway, and she reached for the doorknob, hand shaking. She twisted it and walked inside, breathing a sigh of relief at finding it empty. _Have I told Mom? Dad knows already. But he wouldn't tell her. _She vaguely recognized her cell phone, resting on top of her clothing, where she last left it, when her eyes began to glaze over slightly. She stumbled over and picked it up, sloppily dialing her home phone number. It took a few attempts to get it right. _God, whiskey really does a number on you. _Only one thought kept her posture perfect. _I'm from the South, and if there's anything Southerners can do, they can hold their goddamn liquor. _She half-smiled. _Dad would be proud of me. _Her mother picked up after the third ring. Or so.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mom."

"Ainsley. What a surprise. Are you guys leaving?"

"Oh, no," she drawled. "I just wanted to tell you that Sam postponed the wedding." She heard her mother gasp. "Not indefinitely. Just for now."

"Why?" Louise cried, shocked.

"I just wanted to tell you, Mom. Okay? I'm going to go now. Bye." And before her mother could speak in protest, she ended the call, and shut the phone off. She walked out of the room, and sloppily shoved Josh's curtain aside. "Josh?" He raised his head, his eyes half-open.

"Yeah?" he replied, groggily.

"We're leaving in the morning?"

"No, Ainsley. We're leaving now. At the fucking crack of dawn."

"No need to get hostile. Sheesh. I see what CJ meant when she said…"

"I'm not fucking hostile. And there's no secret plan to fight inflation. God, doesn't anyone recognize sarcasm anymore?" He pulled the curtain shut. Well, if they weren't leaving til morning, might as well go to a club. Get more alcohol into her system, dance provocatively with strange men, and forget about Sam. _Sounds like a plan. _She ran into her room and quickly changed, grabbing her purse. Before the night was through, Ainsley Hayes was determined to enjoy herself.

* * *

"Adam, you idiot!" Louise's shrill voice cried. Now, Louise Hayes was usually a docile little creature, but when angered, she flared, and she could wreak hell on anything. Adam Hayes nervously peeked his head out of the kitchen.

"What are you talking about?" He headed out of the kitchen into the living room where she was, hand still poised above the phone.

"What the hell'd you go and do that for?"

"What are you _talking _about?"

"I saw what you did the other morning, when Sam and Ainsley were here. I saw it…and I didn't say anything, because I thought, Ainsley lived with us for pretty much half of her life. She'll know that her father's being a _stupid fucking idiot _and she'll tell her fiance and everything will be fine. But guess what, Adam?" Her brown eyes were raging with anger and the pupils were dilating in the darkness of the room to intimidating heights. _I never thought I could be intimidated by her goddamn pupils, _he thought. "Everything's _not _fine."

"Ainsley visited us with her fiance, and we met him. You liked him, right? Everything's all fine and well. Just sit down and knit or crochet or sew something, Louise."

"I will not be appeased like a _baby_, Adam. And let me tell you, if you fucking ask me to sew, knit, or crochet, let me remind you that all those activities involve _needles _and there is something more appealing I could do with needles than knit. Say, like, stab you!" Her fists were clenched at her sides. "Her wedding's postponed."

He wrinkled his forehead. "She postponed her wedding?"

"No. _Sam _postponed the wedding. You know why Sam postponed the wedding?" He shook his head. "Because you're an asshole who decided to play with people's lives. He didn't _know _that you're an imbecile incapable of handling anything when they don't go your way. He thought that you weren't happy with him. And that's why he postponed the wedding. Because he cares about our daughter."

"How do you know this?" he replied, casually.

"_Honey_," she replied, the endearment strained, "I fed the boy. I gave the boy food. You understand? I gave him nourishment."

"You gave him a piece of fried chicken. It's not like you adopted the boy for half a year." She rolled her eyes at his childish reply.

"Leave it to you to stray from the main path. Missing the goddamn forest for the trees. The point is I _fed _him. I could read him like a book. He _loved _Ainsley. Very much. And you screwed it up by trying to set her up with her prom date. Her goddamn prom date who works at the bank, rather than Sam, who happens to be a presidential candidate!"

"I realize that in comparison Zach isn't…"

"In comparison? When you compare Zach and Sam, Zach is primordial ooze! You sacrificed our daughter's happiness because you have your own idea of who she's supposed to marry, don't you?"

"Yes. What's wrong with that?"

She heaved a sigh. "Adam, you might not have known this, but my father didn't want me to marry you."

He looked shocked. "Why?"

"He wanted me to marry the kid across the street whom I have known since I was three, rather than you, whom I met when I was in school."

"Alan Meyers?" She nodded. "He wanted you to marry Alan Meyers? That no-good…" She interrupted him.

"That's what my father thought about you. And that's what you thought about Sam. So obviously, it is not out of the realm of possibility that you're wrong. You just don't like Sam."

"I don't."

"Get over it. Because Ainsley does. And you will give them your blessing if I have to force feed him to you." He looked confused at her last analogy. "…never mind. Just give them your blessing." She headed into the kitchen. He heard a loud raucous of clanging bowls and pots and pans. He then heard the sound of a knife being violently slammed into the cutting board. She headed back out into the living room then, dropping a bowl onto the coffee table. "Eat the goddamn salad or I will lay waste to you." Nodding feebly, he walked into the kitchen to fetch a fork.

* * *

Ainsley glanced around the crowded club. Ordering a drink from a bartender, she turned to face the crowd. A man, brown hair, walked up to her. Grinning, he took her hand. "What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" he drawled. She winced at the pick-up line. It sounded so crude.

"Nothing," she replied. "Just enjoying a drink."

He winked at her. "How about you enjoy a drink at my place?" She nodded as her stomach began to churn with nausea. _He was not Sam. He was never going to be Sam. But tonight wasn't about Sam. Tonight was about her. _And besides, she could always get up early in the morning and leave. Sam would never know. And with that knowledge in her brain, she took his proferred hand and walked out of the club.


	19. Reclamation

Title: Bipartisanship

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Classification: R

Rating: T? M? If it is M, it's only for this one chapter, I think. We'll get back to T.

Disclaimer: West Wing does not belong to me. I wish it did. Um…hm…

Author's Note: Wow. This chapter started out all nice and innocent, and then kind of gestated into a monster. Well, I hope you like it. I apologize for any mischaracterizations. Und zuviel danken für Leslie. All bad/incorrect/inaccurate German grammar aside. Please review.

* * *

It was midnight and the entire town seemed to be suffocatingly silent. She stood in the bathroom, rinsing her face with cold water. She hadn't been able to go through it. She had asked to use the bathroom, and once she had finished, she had found him passed out on the bed. She took a deep breath and returned to the bathroom, trying to calm her nerves. It seemed as if a haze had settled over her mind. She couldn't recollect where she was. She grabbed her things, scant as they were, and headed out of the apartment building. 

She returned to the bus to find a sole light on. She thought it symbolism equivalent to the last foundations of humanity. Or maybe that was the alcohol speaking. She entered the familiar structure to find a single shadow, a silhouette. _Did he really exist? _Her mind was interrogating, questioning, but her physical body seemed weak, tired. He lifted his head and she saw him now. _Sam. _His eyes were not as they usually were. There was an unknown emotion there. She could sense that. They seemed cold at the moment, detached. She stumbled over and embraced him, biting back tears. Her voice cracked gently. "I'm sorry."

His eyes seemed to warm over. His gaze was gentler, softer. His reply was a whisper in the silence of the intruding night. "Why don't you go rest?" She nodded, and tried to regain her composure, heading for their sleeping area. She collapsed onto the bed, and let the dregs of fatigue claim her. And for an undefinable amount of time, Sam did not move from his stationary position. He was pondering what Ainsley did that she could possibly have to be apologetic for.

She awoke to find him missing. She sat up and tried to ignore the dull, throbbing cadence of her headache. Bits and pieces of yesterday night filtered into her mind. She loved Sam. There was no doubt in her mind. She hoped the feeling was still reciprocated. Rushing, she ran through her morning routine before rushing out to find him. He was outside, staring at either the scenery or a fixed point in the sky. She approached him cautiously. "Sam," the name was still tentative on her lips. He leaned down and kissed her fiercely. She closed her eyes and relished the feeling, although it passed quickly. Her eyes stayed shut, and she reluctantly forced them open. She had missed that feeling…the feeling of excitement when he kissed her. "Have you eaten yet?" She shook her head. How could he be so detached? Had he somehow known what had almost taken place? "You should eat."

"I'm not hungry," she quickly replied.

"You? Not hungry? Are you sick?" His voice adopted a concerned tone.

"No." Her voice became firm. She didn't know what had caused it to steel over, but she hoped that the feeling remained with her. "Sam…why'd you postpone the wedding?"

"I told you already," he said, his eyes losing their cold glare. "I don't want you to get married against your father's wishes."

"Sam…tell me the real reason." He looked surprised.

"What?"

"I've done a lot of things in my life against my father's wishes, all right? I've moved to Washington, I've worked in a Democratic White House, I had sex…I can't even begin to list all the things I did that he didn't want me to do. If I listened to my father for _everything_, Sam…it'd just be…" She shook her head, and took a deep breath. "Now tell me the real reason. I won't get angry. Just don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying to you."

"Sam, my father will get over it if we get married. And you knew that. You _had _to have known that. Why didn't you want to get married?" His eyes quickly transformed back to their detached glare. "Are you nervous? Was the courtship too short for you? Do you not love me anymore? _What_?"

He grasped her waist and in a rough gesture, pulled her to him and crashed his mouth down on top of hers. His tongue forced its way into her mouth. It was coarse, rough, and unlike him. He pulled away. "You want to make your accusations? Go ahead." She stood there, dazed for a second. Her head began to thud louder in the background. "I was telling the damn truth."

"Were you?" she replied, sharply. He nodded. "Let's get married."

"Ainsley," he shook his head. She recoiled.

"_What_? This can't possibly be because of my father, can it?" She began to walk away. He followed her and grasped her wrist.

"Fine. Let's get married."

She walked up to him and he released her wrist. "Don't do this just to win the damn argument. Are you doing this because you want to? Or is it for your ego?"

"I'm doing it because I want to," he replied, his tone equally harsh. Her anger was practically emanating and his indignance was visible. He reached in his pocket, and retrieved the ring. He slid it back onto her finger. She shuddered as the cold metal made contact with her skin. He kissed her roughly, picking her up and carrying her onto the bus.

This wasn't what she was accustomed to. This wasn't loving Sam being gentle and kind. This was Neanderthalian Sam. This was a facet of him she had never seen, not to mention experienced. He reached for her clothes and tugged them off with a necessity that she seemed to reciprocate. They fell against the bed, but they never paused. Never relented. Thunder unexpected pealed in the sky above them.

Ainsley dug her nails into his back as he collided against her, and she felt bits and pieces of her anger dissolve with each connection. He kissed her roughly again, his lips traveling down her neck. He bit her lightly and she reveled in the contrasting feelings. The sensations heightened for a split second, before she was flung off the precipice. She shuddered softly and kissed him, softer this time. Black began to mesh with the vivid colors of reality, and she vaguely recalled the feel of fibers encompassing her as he pulled the comforter over her.

* * *

_Click shiny button to leave one for the author, please._


	20. Preparations

A/N: Yes, people, I am alive! I wrote this like nine minutes before I had to go to bed (while trying to study for a geometry test). So I apologize for all errors or OOC-ness in general. Um, well, this is on it's way to completion, guys. It makes me kind of sad, actually. Please review, and enjoy. And so much thanks to Leslie. Just for...being Leslie.

* * *

Ainsley awoke, warm and sated, to the smell of bacon and pancakes. She basked in the glow of the sun for a second, stretching. Finding the absence of another warm body beside her, she quickly dressed, stealing one of Sam's Princeton sweatshirts. She quickly washed and brushed her teeth before wandering out into the main section of the bus. Her nose was following the wafting scent of bacon and her ears were waiting for the characteristic sizzling. She wandered outside to find Sam and Josh chatting over their platefuls of food.

"Where'd you get the food?" she inquired. Sam looked up, and smirked.

"Morning to you too, _sweetheart_." She smirked back, and headed over to where they were seated. She watched as they resumed their previous conversation, quickly tying up the loose ends. Josh looked rather uncomfortable. She walked over and seated herself next to Sam. None too subtly, she reached over and stole a piece of his bacon. He halted his voiced protests as she bit into it.

And as sweetly as he had greeted her before, she said smoothly, "Affirmative Action, remember?"

"You're not a minority, honey." He reached for the remainder of his bacon.

She shook her head with a smile. "A Republican on a Democratic campaign? If that's not a minority…" Josh huffed out a laugh, before he got up and left.

Smiling, Ainsley called out to his retreating form. "Donna's at the park across the street." He paused in his step. Turning his head, he flashed her a grin, before shaking his head and continuing on his way. With their only distraction gone, Ainsley gave Sam a peck on the lips. He eyed her warily.

"Where's the rest of my kiss?"

She returned his stare. "Where's my food?" Reaching in his pocket, he tossed her a round object. She caught it, albeit clumsily, and she examined it closely. It was a ripe peach.

"Sam, I can't believe you. We're engaged, and you _still _don't know where I'm from! I hope I don't have to remind you once again that peaches are for _Georgians _and not _North Carolineans._"

He took the peach from her hand and held it against her lips. "You wanted food. You should eat." She smirked at him again, before taking a bite out of the sweet fruit. The nectar clung to her lips for a brief moment, before she licked them away. He was entranced for a second, but he resumed eating.

"Sam." He looked up. "When do you want to get married?" He shrugged. "How about a general season? Winter? Autumn? Spring? Summer?" He shrugged again. She took another bite of the peach. "Maybe this is why you can't pass anything in Congress. _So _indecisive."

"Or it could be that Congress just hates me." She smirked.

"I doubt it." He kissed her tenderly. She smiled.

"You're sweet."

"Literally? Or…?"

"I have a meeting with Josh and Toby about our campaign budget and sponsors and things like that."

"Are you going to listen and pay attention?"

"Probably not," he said, bringing a forkful of pancakes up to his mouth. "I'll probably sit there and pretend to listen, but rather think about a storyline for the first issue of my Pilgrim action-adventure series." She rolled her eyes.

"You're still thinking about that?"

"Hey, the Pilgrims had to have something going on, right? Between the Mayflower Compact, and Thanksgiving, and the slaughtering of Indians."

"I love your optimism."

"Off to practice my acting."

Sam got up and headed for the bus. Ainsley could see two retreating blurs. She guessed one was Donna, and the other was Josh. Well, that could be a good opportunity to sit with Donna and talk to her about the wedding. She wanted Donna to be her maid-of-honor, and she wanted CJ to be a bridesmaid. She at least knew that much. She stood, about to voice a question to Sam, when he inexplicably paused and turned. "Yes, you can have my pancakes." She grinned, and sat down, waiting for Donna.

Donna walked up to the bus, and watched as Josh entered the bus. She sat down next to Ainsley on the ground. "Pancakes?"

"You have some of Josh's?" Donna nodded. "Hey, Donna, I wanted to talk to you about something, and I wanted to see how receptive you are to the idea."

The blonde nodded her head, pondering something for a second. "Okay."

"It's about the wedding."

Donna's head turned to face the bus, and then, back to face Ainsley. "Shouldn't Sam be here then, too?"

"It concerns the bridal party, so he doesn't need to be involved, really. Would you like to be my maid-of-honor?" Donna released a shaky breath.

"I'd be honored." She wrapped her arms around the Southern woman, embracing her. "Is Josh going to be the best man?"

Ainsley tried desperately to prevent herself from smiling. Her efforts were valiant, but unable to prevent the corners of her mouth from turning up. "I suppose so. Sam and Josh have known each other for a long time, right?" Donna shrugged.

"I think so."

The door opened then and Sam headed towards Ainsley. He glanced at the plate in her lap. "You ate it _all_?" She grinned.

"What'd you expect?" He shrugged, quickly clasping her hand in his, and rushing to the park across the street. The trees were green, with lovely flowers of pink and purple, and the breeze seemed to cause their branches to sway in, in a non-intimidating manner. It was almost as if they were embracing them, and shielding them from the hatred of the world. This was their moment. The trees were protecting their shared solitude.

"October, when the tree leaves are orange, red, and gold, in a cathedral that reminds me of classic English literature." She blinked a few times, confused. Then, it dawned on her. "With you, and me, and all of the people we know. Or want to know, at least."

She smiled, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You writers. Classic English literature?" He rolled his eyes. "You thought about that when you were in the meeting?"

"The Pilgrims in my head kept getting married instead of saving the colony from…y'know, evil locusts or something."

"I didn't think there were evil locusts in New England." He pressed his lips insistently against hers, stealing her breath, and her soul.

"Never say Sam Seaborn didn't know what he wanted."

She took his hand in hers and began to head towards the bus. She sighted Josh jogging over. He called out to them. "I was just about to get you. The bus is about to leave. And we couldn't exactly leave our presidential candidate behind."

"You know, Josh, what happened the time you got left behind by the motorcade?" His lips set in an angry position.

"Let's not get into that." Sam laughed and they boarded the bus. He accompanied Ainsley to their room. She sat, and looked at him.

"You want to get married in October." He nodded. "And you want the leaves to be red, orange, and gold." He nodded again. "In a cathedral that makes you think of English literature."

"_Classic _English literature."

She corrected her faux pas, and resumed. "Where? New England? The South?"

"Maybe Virginia."

She brought her hand up to his cheek. "Is this really happening, Sam?"

"It is."

He kissed her hand, and she looked at him. "Kiss me, Sam."


	21. Fine

A/N: Hey, guys. This is the **final **chapter. At least, for now, anyway. g> I want to thank all of you guys for reading, and reviewing. This story gave me the most amount of reviews I've ever had. And hey!--if this isn't up to your expectations, I sincerely apologize. I began this in the evening and finished it at the dead of night. I wanted all the details perfect. I'm posting this unbetaed, though, so all mistakes are mine. And I do not, copy, do **not** own West Wing. Or Ainsley or Sam. Other than that, enjoy. And it's been fun.

* * *

The sunset was beautiful. The red and orange of the fading sun streamed through the stained glass windows, casting jagged, asymmetrical shapes onto the floor in different colors. The air was cool, and the doors to the cathedral were thrust open, allowing entrance for guests. Sam knew instinctively that no more people would be coming, but he was grateful for the opening. The cool air washed over him, like a tide, and it cooled his nervous sweat. _You're going to get married. You're going to get married. _And suddenly, Sam Seaborn felt very, very queasy.

* * *

Ainsley Hayes was sitting in a room in the back, where the air wasn't circulating, feeling very, very heated, and in a bad way. She was swathed in white tulle and the heat was beginning to seep into her pores. _Can heat do that? _And she remembered thinking that the steam pipe trunk distribution venue would be cooler than this venerable hell. _Was that five minutes ago? _Donna and CJ were fanning themselves with…paper of some kind.

"Are you ready?" She gazed at her dressed form in the mirror. Brushing tiny, wispy platinum strands from her face, she smiled…and nodded.

Donna and CJ grinned, and took their places, dressed stylishly in dark violet satin. They grasped their bouquets, and headed to the door leading to the aisle. CJ turned quickly. "Are you ready?" Ainsley released a breath and smiled, before nodding. And then the large mahogany doors opened, and Ainsley felt…royal. The bridal party began to proceed down the carpet. Ainsley watched as each of her bridesmaids, and her maid-of-honor, proceeded down the aisle with grace, even in their heels. She hoped she wouldn't slip and fall on her face. And would it kill them to keep muffins in the bridal room? Just because they were women didn't mean they didn't eat. She linked her arm with her father, who smiled at her. Her right foot, bequeathed in a white strappy sandal, was set on the red carpet. The organ began to play. And she felt young again.

She slowly made her way down the aisle, feeling like she was gliding, and her eyes never left the eyes of the man standing at the end of the line. She grinned even larger.

* * *

Sam watched as Ainsley proceeded down the aisle. Her face was lit up with a wonderful glow, and her bright smile made him want to smile. He would have if not for the sheer fact that he was horrendously nervous. He almost forgot to take Ainsley's arm at the last second, and he was sure that if it wasn't socially inappropriate, Josh would have hit him over the head. Or Ainsley. He paid no attention to the man who was mumbling some words that were probably very, very important. He just couldn't seem to tear his eyes from the woman who stood next to him.

And at the end, when he was granted permission to kiss the newly commissioned Mrs. Seaborn, he could have exploded from his nervous tension. He chose to lean in and kiss her thoroughly and deeply. After he had pulled away, a faint tinge of pink lingered on Ainsley's cheeks.

They rushed out of the cathedral to greet the newly changed leaves of autumn, and to feel the cool air brush against them. Rice was flung at them, as was the custom, and Sam laughed.

At the reception, Ainsley and Sam shared a sweet dance. They danced, her head nestled against his shoulder. She tipped her head up the slightest degree and whispered in his ear. "Doesn't this just remind you of very classic Hollywood?" He chuckled softly, with hints of things to come, and it sent shivers down her spine. He kissed the soft flesh of her neck tenderly, and she emitted a soft sigh.

He leaned his mouth down to her ear, and discreetly planted a light kiss on the shell of her ear. "I know this is supposed to be all about us and everything, but what say we escape to a hallway or storage closet of some kind?" She giggled softly, and kissed him gently.

"I love you, Sam." He smiled.

"Good to know." He paused. "Does that mean you'll help me think up plots for the Pilgrim action-adventure series?" She sighed. "You know, I'm thinking of expanding to the Puritans."

Ainsley crinkled her nose. "You know, if I talk to Toby, I'm sure he has a remedy for this."

Sam nodded. "It's called abusing me." She hit his head playfully. "Hey! What was that for?"

"You said he abused you."

"Well, I meant verbally!"

"You should have specified."

"Hey, I could sue you."

She stuck her tongue out at him, with an air of impishness. "I'm White House counsel, buddy. Don't even try anything. You so much as reach for a form, I'll know about it." He kissed her. She sighed again. Her entire body was atingle, from her head down to her toes. She was quite positive that if her hair strands had nerve endings, she'd positively be in nirvana. "When are we moving in all of our stuff?" He shrugged. "It's a big house."

She smirked. "I didn't realize." And suddenly, they were two lovesick fools again, dancing and kissing, and enjoying each other's company. They almost forgot about the presence of the others.

After the reception, they decided to go visit the White House. Sam was allowed entrance to the Residence, and he felt almost as if he was intruding. He sat down at the desk, and admired its shininess. Ainsley fished around for a piece of paper, before setting a medium scrap before him on the desk. "Sign it," she whispered. It felt sacrilegious to be standing in there with white tulle. He found a pen, and quickly scrawled his name.

"That feels…official."

She crinkled her nose. "What? The pen or the signing?"

There was a pregnant pause. "Both, I guess." She laughed again, and headed to the bathroom to change. Ainsley didn't remember another time when she had laughed so much. She wasn't used to so much happiness. She quickly changed. Well, as quickly as she could manage with a dress the size of North Dakota. Gazing at her hair, she sighed. Taking it apart would take forever. Almost begrudgingly, she raised her arm and began gently plucking the bobby pins from her stiff hair. She changed into a rose colored negligee, a gift from her bridesmaids, and slipped out of the bathroom.

Sam was standing by the main window in the Residence, and he was staring out at the city. The lights of the metropolis joined with the twinkling stars, and he was utterly amazed by it. He felt a light touch on his shoulder, and he turned around, to face her, scantily clad in a negligee, with her hair lying limply against her shoulders. Even though she might have felt insecure about herself, he found she was absolutely amazing, and between the window and her, he was astounded that someone would allow so much beauty in his life. And with a light whisper, she led him into the rest of his life.


End file.
